


Three-part Process

by andrewiel



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewiel/pseuds/andrewiel
Summary: On the run from his father, Neil Josten seeks safety at the Foxhole Rescue Shelter. He plans to go through life undetected, and to hide his omega status from everybody. The only problem is Andrew Minyard, an alpha who's able to see through all of Neil's secrets and scents.An alpha that, for no real reason, Neil decides to trust.





	1. Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. Well. 
> 
> After reading a few andreil A/B/O fics I decided to give it my own shot. There were a few things I've always wanted to read in a fic, so I thought 'why not write it instead!' This is just a fun lil thing to get back into writing, as opposed to rewriting.
> 
> I've only written this chapter, but there should be 2 more. I'm not sure how far (yee, /that/ kind of far) I'm gon go, so the tags may change. If this isn't your thing, I understand ♥ Bear in mind this is an AU, and this is fan fiction, so liberties have been taken. Ok. enjoy the ride!

It wasn’t right to be standing still for so long.

To be in one place for so long.

But he had come to the Foxhole Rescue Shelter some two or so weeks ago, and he hasn’t run yet. That’s not to say he hasn’t tried. He’s tried. Oh yeah, he’s tried.

The first night after being admitted consisted of roaming every hall, smelling every corner, checking behind each open door for the smell of danger. His father was everywhere, and his father was going to find him so easily here. To stay would be a mistake.

He had to leave, run, never stop running, but -

That’s all his life had consisted of the past - however many years. Never stopping, never looking back, never meeting anyone for anything other than ‘what can I use you for before never seeing you again?’ and he was tired. So on that first night, just like he has every night since, Neil sat down and stopped running. He was tired, so he slept.

The room given to him has a lock on the inside and outside; nobody coming in, nobody getting out. It’s the closest thing to safety Neil’s had since his mother died, two years ago. That one night has turned into nearly fifteen nights now, and Neil can’t quite walk away from the safety of his locked door.

The Foxhole shelter is something else, and Neil knew that upon first bursting in through the front door during a rainstorm. Sure, it was his only option, but the place didn’t ask any questions. He was greeted with a blanket and a soothing woman offering him dry clothes and a bed to sleep in. They never asked for his name, or why he needed a place to stay - they didn’t even ask his status. Alpha, beta, omega, whatever. It didn’t matter in that moment, and it hasn’t mattered yet.

Or, well, sort of.

It’s the kind of place his mother would have dreamed of, and the kind of place she’d never allow them to stay.

It’s not safe here.

But, Neil reasons with himself, the scent of betas and alphas paint every wall, easily overmasking his own; Neil’s scent is a tea candle next to a fireplace. Nobody would know it’s him hiding here from smell alone, he hopes.

Neil’s sense of smell might be his greatest skill, besides being able to clock a fast mile. It’s how he knew this place might just be okay for a night, and it’s why he’s still here now. Danger isn’t as prominent inside as it is outside in the world. It’s not safe, by any means, but there’s nobody living under the same roof who wants him dead, captured, kidnapped, or sold.

He’ll count that as a win.

The only danger that really exists is -

Oh, he hates him. Every hair rises on the back of his neck when he smells him, so awful. It’s the faintest scent, only noticeable when in close proximity, so it doesn’t hit Neil until he nearly walks right into the kitchen.

But it does hit him, and Neil quickly backs right into the archway of the kitchen entrance.

Abby, the shelter’s resident nurse, the woman who had greeted Neil at the door on his first night, looks up and smiles. “Good morning, Neil. Come on in. Can I get you some coffee?”

Abby isn’t the dangerous one though, far from it. It’s the venomous shape of a human alpha sitting behind her - otherwise known as Andrew.

Andrew sits on the counter next to the sink, shoveling a bowl of cereal into his mouth. His eyes lock onto Neil’s.

“No, no, I’m okay. I can - I’ll come back later.”

“Neil, please, have a seat,” Abby says, pulling out the chair beside her. “I’ve got some time before my next appointment. How about I make you some breakfast?”

Neil points his gaze down and bites on his lip, wondering about this. He knows Andrew isn’t a threat right now, not really. Neil can’t smell anything on him - and that’s what’s so horrifying about his scent. It’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling, what he’s hiding, what he’s thinking. He isn’t to be trusted, under any circumstances.

“No thank you.” He takes a step back.

Only for Andrew to say, “Neil, come in.”

In the most authoritative voice Neil’s ever heard. Not strict and demanding, but as if he knows what he’s talking about, and Neil -

Well, Neil has to listen to that. He swallows down hard and takes a daring step into the kitchen, never making eye contact with Andrew as he finds his way to his seat.

“Abby, do you have any pills for patheticness?” Andrew asks, hoping down off the counter. “Neil’s got a sad, sad case of it.” He turns and throws his bowl in the sink, then looks at Neil. “If I told you not to eat, would you?”

“Screw you,” Neil spits, finally looking up.

Andrew looks confused for a moment, tapping a finger to his lips. “Omegas aren’t meant to give orders, isn’t that right?”

All of Neil’s hot, hot blood runs cold.

It would be a funny sentiment, maybe, if it weren’t supposed to be a secret.

Abby’s the only one who should know about Neil’s status. She managed to rope him into a physical a week ago and swore to never tell a soul about Neil’s truth. She prescribed him the suppressants that would alter Neil’s scent. Nobody else was to ever know that Neil isn’t a beta, like he claims to be.

So how Andrew figured it out, with an alpha nose, is beyond Neil.

He snarls, getting up from his chair to - to - do something, like shove his fist in Andrew’s face.

“Ah-ah,” Andrew tuts, waving a finger in Neil’s face. “An omega’s place is to lay down and beg, not growl.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll -”

“You’ll what?” Andrew’s mask of confusion twists even deeper. He takes a step towards the doorway and lingers against the frame. “That’s right, Neil. You’ll do nothing and stay, like a good boy.”

“Fuck you,” Neil shouts, and ignores the awful, unwanted curl of heat in his gut. He focuses on his anger instead, and continues to simmer in it long after Andrew is gone.

-

Nicky is a nice person, if a bit of a pest.

Neil can handle his company and even enjoy it sometimes, especially when he needs a distraction. Nicky likes strange TV shows that take Neil far, far away from reality, and Nicky can talk and talk and talk until Neil can’t even remember what he started off talking about. His attention is always somehow fixated on himself, so, yeah, Neil can tolerate that.

Except Nicky . . .

Neil wonders if Nicky’s ever heard of the term ‘personal space’.

He’s just got done on the treadmill in the shelter’s exercise room. Going outside isn’t a smart idea yet, especially not alone, so Neil’s been stuck to the gym lately. Being able to run at all is a sharp relief.

The shelter has a small changing area with a set of showers. The doors all come with locks, like everything does in this place, so Neil manages enough courage to take a five minute shower. The locker area is empty when he gets out, so Neil quickly unpacks his bag to pull out his clothes.

It’s right as he’s about to slide on his shirt that he hears a long, low whistle, and he immediately slams into the wall behind him. All he can do is hold up his shirt to cover what he can and try to form a snarl in the back of his throat.

“Go away,” he says, aiming for vicious but falling somewhere near cowardly. It’s just that Nicky is a beta, and Neil is an omega - a recovering one at that - and he is no match for someone so much taller, bigger, healthier.

“Damn, Neil,” Nicky says, smiling up and down at Neil’s body. “For a scrawny little thing, you’re pretty stacked.”

Neil holds onto his shirt so tightly it nearly rips. He looks to the ground and tries not to tremble.

“Aww, Neil, that was a compliment. You don’t have to look so petrified.”

“Can you -” No, a beta wouldn’t lay down and submit to this. Neil squares his shoulders and looks up. “Get the hell away from me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nicky raises his hands up and says, “Here, I’ll turn around so you can get dressed.” Neil sighs a little, knowing that with Nicky he won’t get anything better than this. He begins to pull his shirt on when Nicky continues; “But seriously, Neil, how do you not have a mate yet? Any offers? I find this incredibly, despicably hard to believe.”

“I don’t need one,” Neil says, sneering. “I don’t need anything.”

“Who needs anything nowadays? Don’t you want somebody to protect you and care for you and hold you close on long winter nights?”

Neil frowns a little, and bends down to pull his pants on over his feet. “I think you’re projecting.”

Nicky laughs. "Is it safe to look now?”

Neil finishes tugging on his pants before making a small noise at the back of his throat, and Nicky turns and grins at him. Before Neil can even blink, Nicky is stepping closer to rub at Neil’s hair, and Neil - immediately slams back into the wall, ducking to avoid Nicky’s touch.

“Oh, Neil,” Nicky cooes, and rubs Neil’s hair anyway. “Nobody here is trying to hurt you, I promise.”

Neil puts all his strength into growling, sounding like some sort of cub or kitten than anything terrifying. It still works; Nicky takes his hand away and sighs.

“You’re as bad as Andrew. Fine, fine, fine, I get it. No touchies.”

Before Nicky can try again, Neil bends down and grabs his bag and runs. Doors open and slam shut behind him, the walls blur, he takes stairs two at a time and -

Collides right into Andrew, who was walking down said stairs.

Neil falls backwards with a loud bang, his breath punching out of him. The room tilts this way and that as he tries to collect his bearings, his breath. When everything does settle, Neil’s only focal point is Andrew, standing where he stood when Neil ran into him.

“For someone on the run, you truly don’t watch where you’re going,” Andrew says, gracing Neil with a snide look.

Heart racing, sense of smell disoriented, Neil scrambles backwards and tries to find the nearest escape route.

Andrew walks down a step. “Stop that.”

And Neil stops.

Stops panting, stops panicking, stops picturing the worst.

Then Andrew is right in front of Neil, and he offers him a hand. Neil looks at it for a long moment, then takes it.

Andrew quickly hauls him to his feet and doesn’t let go of his hand, keeping it contained in his until Neil’s pulse begins to slow. He nods towards the kitchen and lets go.

Neil nods, and quickly falls into step behind him.

The kitchen is empty when they enter. Andrew grabs a glass and fills it up from the tap, then slides it across the counter towards Neil. There’s a few feet of space between them. Comfortable. Safe.

“Now speak.”

Neil takes a timid sip of his water and shrugs a little. “Nicky was -”

“Ah.” Andrew holds out his hand. “No further explanation is needed.”

Neil smiles a little, for whatever reason, and takes another sip. “Nicky was Nicky. But um. In the changing room.”

Andrew’s body goes still and tense, his eyes switching from surveillance mode to attack. “Did he touch you?” he asks, lightening-quick.

Neil threads a hand through his hair and shuts his eyes. “Just here. I shouldn’t have gotten so - I just hate that I can’t defend myself. I can’t get anyone to listen to me.”

“Passing as a beta won’t make you any less of an omega.”

Neil once again tries to growl, but it feels even more silly in front of Andrew.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Andrew says, proving Neil’s point.

Neil sighs and drops his chin to his chest. It’s terrifying and annoying that he can be so seen to someone that he can’t see at all.

A finger digs into Neil’s chin then, and Neil doesn’t flinch when he knows who it is.

Andrew lifts Neil’s gaze up to meet his. Once they’re looking at one another, he says, “Nicky will not bother you again.”

Neil’s pulse slows until it feels smooth, like velvet. He has no strength to speak, so he mouths the word ‘okay’.

“Drink your water.” Andrew puts the glass back in Neil’s hand and leaves.

It’s then, as soon as he’s gone, that Neil notices something.

Andrew had a scent, a strong one. One that Neil suddenly misses, now that it’s gone.

It had made him calm.

Whatever it was.

-

Restless, is what this feeling is.

He’s grown used to things now, all these weeks in. Used to every wall and colour and even person. He knows who to avoid and who he can say hello to. He knows who he likes to spend time with when he isn’t holed up in his room, counting down the days. He has a plan of action if anyone is to come for him. All he can do now is bide his time between then and now.

He’s restless.

He wants to run, more than anything else, but going outside isn’t safe, and going to the gym - well, he’s not afraid of Nicky, but he is afraid of Nicky walking in on him again. So Neil paces the stairs, the halls, he toys around in the kitchen searching through the cupboards for anything that might look interesting, but all he wants to do is run.

If he starts, he may not stop.

It’s better to stay standing still.

Neil eventually makes his way outside, just to have a breath of fresh air. The shelter has a fenced in backyard and a large tree in the middle. The weather is damp and grey, threatening to pour down rain soon. It’s chilly, but Neil doesn’t mind. He sits near the tree in the grass and looks up at the sky.

A lifetime here would be better than a lifetime on the run.

A lifetime of always looking forwards and backwards, side to side, always afraid, always waiting to be captured and taken. Maybe his real place is as his father’s slave. Maybe all he really is meant for is to be sold off to the highest bidder.

Stupid omega genetics. Stupid mother. Stupid father. Stupid lot in life.

Restless is better than dead, he figures. Still, he sighs, and closes his eyes.

“You reek,” a voice suddenly says, but Neil doesn’t jolt upright when he recognizes who’s speaking.

Neil sits up a little to look over at Andrew, standing against the back door with his arms folded. He hadn’t been able to smell him over his own desperate need to be free.

“Hi to you too,” Neil says, and starts to grab at handfuls of grass, just to have something to do.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“I can see that. Why aren’t you doing something?” Andrew asks, stepping out further into the yard. “You smell restless. It’s irritating. I can’t focus.”

“You’re free to leave if it bothers you that much.”

“As are you.”

Neil looks at Andrew a moment longer before turning onto his back. He stares up at the grey sky and prays for rain.

“No, I’m not.”

Grass crunches under Andrew’s feet. “And why is that?”

“I’m hardly safe with a locked bedroom door. There’s no way I’ll be safe out there,” he says, pointing at a direction beyond the fence.

“There's someone hunting you. Who?” Not what, but _who_. Like he knows.

Neil thinks, and tries to figure out what he smells on Andrew right now. It’s pure honesty, he thinks. Irritation and interest, but nothing ulterior.

So Neil answers honestly. “A relative of mine.”

He can feel Andrew’s stare on him for a long moment, and then Andrew asks, “If you could go somewhere, what would you do?”

“Run.”

Neil can pinpoint when Andrew’s look hardens into a glare. He rolls over onto his knees and sits back on his heels, looking up at Andrew. “I just want to run and feel less - trapped.”

“Hm.” Andrew abruptly turns and leaves Neil in the cold silence.

Neil sighs a bit, and stares at the sky as he wonders why he doesn’t feel scared. The truth is now out there, sort of, and the world isn’t crashing down around him.

The back door is opening again, and Andrew stands before it wearing his coat, his car keys in one hand. “Are you coming or not?”

Neil gets to his feet, feeling a bit of caution at the open invitation. “Tell me where.”

But orders never work on Andrew.

“If I did, wouldn’t that only serve to make you feel more trapped?”

A smile fights its way across Neil’s face. “Okay,” he says. “I’m coming.”

He grabs his things and meets Andrew in the garage. The garage should be reserved for staff only, but for whatever reason Andrew has a spot. Andrew also has a Maserati, which only adds to Neil’s endless confusion about him.

Getting in the car is a challenge at first - the seat smells like Kevin.

And try as he might, Neil doesn’t trust Kevin.

He follows Andrew around like a lovesick puppy but has the wrongful status of beta. For someone with less courage than Neil, it’s aggravating.

Neil’s nose twists up as he stares at the seat. When he meets Andrew’s gaze over the car, he finds Andrew watching him with a knowing sort of smirk. “Get in,” Andrew says before sliding into his seat.

Fuck him, Neil thinks, getting into the car and slamming the door behind him.

If Neil rubs his cheeks along the headrest a little, just to spread his own scent over it, then well, so what?

The drive is quiet and peaceful. There’s something dancing inside of Neil’s chest at this feeling of being free, of leaving, going somewhere and being able to come back. He keeps track of every street sign and turn they make, and also keeps an eye on Andrew, but not once does Andrew come off as a threat.

If anything, Neil wants to turn towards him, instead of away.

Eventually they arrive at what appears to be a high school. Andrew parks near the back, gets out and lights a cigarette. He doesn’t wait to be sure Neil is following him and walks off.

Neil is following him, of course, and he’s sure to stay close. It’s a scary world when all you know is Andrew Minyard.

They approach a football field - with a track.

Neil looks on in wonder and can’t help from saying, “Andrew -” He nearly breaks into a sprint before remembering he’s got his bag around his shoulders. Can’t really run with that.

He turns around and meets Andrew’s expectant eyes. There’s nothing in him that suggests betrayal, so after a long moment of thinking, Neil takes his bag off and offers it to Andrew. “Will you watch this for me?”

Andrew grabs the bag, but before he takes it from Neil, he says, “I didn’t take you here to abandon you.”

Neil swallows hard and nods, then lets go of all his worldly possessions. Once Andrew has the bag secure around one shoulder, Neil turns around and begins to run.

And run.

And run.

It’s difficult to run a full lap without acknowledging Andrew. Neil keeps looking over, seeing Andrew seeing him, and every time, he runs a bit faster. An odd flush warms his cheeks that has nothing at all to do with exertion.

He loses track of the laps and the miles and his heartbeat soon enough, keeps running until he loses track of everything else, and comes to a stop what feels like a century later.

Andrew is sitting in the bleachers, and even though it began to rain a few minutes ago, he hasn’t gone to seek shelter. He’s as wet as Neil is, with Neil’s bag protected under his jacket. Neil smiles as he approaches him and reaches out to take his bag back.

Andrew holds it out of his reach for a sickening second and roams his eyes over Neil’s body.

“What?” Neil asks, slightly out of breath still.

“You’re going to stink up my car,” Andrew finally says, giving the bag back.

“You took me here,” Neil retorts, and gently nudges Andrew’s elbow with his own.

Andrew rolls his eyes and reaches up to grab at the hair at the back of Neil’s head, giving him a shove. “You’re sticking your head out the window all the way back.”

-

He saw him. He saw him. He saw the auburn hair and the blue eyes and this time, it wasn’t Neil’s own frightening reflection.

He saw him in the crowd, he smelled his scent, and it could be because Neil’s been running from him for so long that he’s suddenly seeing him everywhere, but but but but -

No. He has to keep calm. Normal. Neil Josten isn’t a scared and small omega. He’s a fighter and a runner and a beta, and that’s what everyone has to believe.

So although his heart is shuddering in fear, Neil puts on a straight face and acts as if everything is fine.

The mall is hectic and full of people and their scents. He hopes his own internal panic is being masked. God, please let the mall be good for _something_.

It was Nicky and Allison who started the rumour that Neil needed new clothes. Wymack, owner of the shelter, didn’t even hesitate in agreeing. So here Neil is, flanked by Andrew, Kevin, Nicky, Allison and Renee, in a very crowded, large and exitless place. Because Neil really needs five people to shop for clothes with him.

They turn down another hall with another stretch of shops and the scent hits Neil again - his father, his unfortunate blood. He skids to a halt and says, “I need to use the bathroom.”

The group keeps walking. Allison waves her hand at him, saying dismissively, “Fine, you’re slowing us down anyway. Run along, we know your size.”

Neil doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s good at running. He spins around and hurries to try and find a bathroom, an escape.

Once he finds one, he runs to the sinks to splash cold water on his face. He leans against the counter and takes in deep breaths, stares at his own reflection just to remind himself that it’s his _reflection_ , not something real and haunting and here to take him away.

He’s in a random mall in South Carolina, far away from his father, with people his father has no idea about. Neil has a different shade of hair now and his scent is masked by suppressants and Andrew’s scent, and even Kevin’s and Nicky's - he’s fine.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

 _I’m fine_ , he thinks, before taking one last deep breath and exiting the bathroom. Andrew is there when he gets out, standing against the wall opposite the door, arms folded and gaze cautious. He looks Neil up and down before walking away.

Neil has never been so quick to follow. He stays in perfect step with him, and realizes he only ever lets out his breath when their elbows brush one another. “Do we have to stay here?” he asks in a near whisper, only wanting Andrew to hear him.

“You’re telling me you don’t want new clothes?” Andrew asks, in a combo of deadpan and sarcasm.

“I don’t need new clothes. I don’t need anything.”

“But you need to look like someone else, don’t you, Neil?”

Neil stops and wants to be angry, but Andrew is only guessing, not stating facts. Bullseye for him. “. . . I do.”

Andrew looks briefly smug about that, then begins to walk again. “We’ll wait in the food court.”

It’s nearly an hour before the rest of the group finds them. Everyone is holding bags of clothing that Neil prays aren’t all for him. Once home, he sits on his bed and stares at the bags, and he can’t quite shake the image of the man who looked like his father. He can’t forget the smell.

He can’t sleep.

He tosses and turns that night. He has a shower. He lays on his bed in nothing but his towel. He dresses in his new clothes, then redresses in his old clothes. He packs his entire bag twice. He puts on enough layers and then his running shoes. He thinks about leaving. He lays in bed again. He can’t sleep.

It’s not safe here, it’s not safe anywhere. Might as well keep running, from one place to the next. See new things. Change his identity. Leave the country, maybe.

He opens his bedroom door to go outside for a bit when he’s suddenly hit with the smell of Andrew.

So distinctly Andrew, and nobody else. It’s strong and steady and a bit musky, a bit deep, a bit rich. It knocks him back a step and has something in his chest tightening, something low in his stomach churning. He curls his hands into fists and sinks his nails into his palms.

It’s not enough to stop his next move; locking his door behind him and walking down the hall towards Andrew’s room. His footsteps are quicker than he had expected, and all too soon he’s outside of Andrew’s door, and that scent is right there.

Neil knocks on the wood, softly, as to not rouse anyone else’s attention.

“What?” asks a voice, deep and husky and aggravated.

“Andrew?” Neil asks, small and quiet.

There’s a pause, a shuffle of movement, and then Andrew saying, “Five minutes. Wait in your room.”

Neil obeys and returns to his room, waiting impatiently on his bed with his eyes on the clock. Exactly five minutes later, Andrew shows up, looking like nothing is wrong or strange about the time or the situation. The heady scent is still rolling off of him though, fainter than before but still intoxicating.

Andrew leans against Neil’s door frame, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. “What reason do you have for bothering me at this hour?”

Neil fiddles with his hands. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Take a pill.”

“I was wondering -” He toys with the strings of his own hoodie and looks at his fully packed bag. Andrew looks at it, too.

“I am not driving you anywhere. You are not leaving.”

There’s terrible conviction in his voice, so stern and sharp that Neil feels pricked by it. He quickly shakes his head and says, “I don’t want to leave. I’m not leaving. I want - Andrew . . . will you - can you -”

Asking is difficult already, but to demand Andrew would be impossible.

Neil allows instinct to take over and stops repressing his emotions, his nature, his instinct. Almost instantly, Andrew’s stance softens and his demeanor changes from threatening to defensive.

“Will you stay near me tonight?” His face flames once he asks it, feeling so foolishly pathetic, but he won’t deny a cure to this fear when it’s standing right there. Not when he’s this tired. “You could - I just need - I can’t sleep. He’s out there, and you -

Andrew takes a few steps closer until he can reach out and jab a finger under Neil’s chin, promptly shutting his mouth. “Get up,” he says, then holds out his hand.

Neil is quick to take it, and grabs his bag before following Andrew out of the room. They end up back at Andrew’s room - where the smell has been subdued but it still unbearable. Andrew lets Neil in then locks the door behind them.

It should be frightening, to be locked in a small space with all this scent and being so close to the main threat. It’s not. For some reason, it really isn’t scary.

Andrew’s things are organized in an Andrew-like way. Important things are scattered here and there but there isn’t an ounce of garbage or knick knacks that don’t belong. His bed has been recently made, smelling like clean laundry and - that wild, unruly scent.

Neil drops his bag and takes in a deep, relieving breath. Safety coats everything. Exhaustion weighs on his bones. But he doesn’t move yet.

Andrew sits at his desk, kicks his feet up and rests his hands over his belly. “Sleep,” he says, looking at the bed and then the door.

Neil is still hesitant to follow his order, because he’s hesitant to get in that bed. He unzips his hoodie and drops it to the ground, then takes a few daunting steps closer to it. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm,” Andrew hums. “I’ll watch the door. Sleep.”

There’s that order again, so Neil gives in and pulls back the blankets. He curls up on the mattress and pulls the blanket up to his shoulders, and finally shuts his eyes. His heart pounds for a few extra seconds, not from fear or exertion, but from being here, from wanting to be here.

A few weeks ago and Neil would have rather run into the night barefooted than spend a night in Andrew’s bed. But he’s safe here. It’s like another lock on an already locked door. There’s nothing in Andrew’s scent that suggests he’s a danger tonight.

Or ever, really.

All there is though, is the smell threaded into the mattress, across the walls, all over Andrew himself. Neil can’t figure it out.

He doesn’t feel the burn of Andrew’s eyes on him until just before sleep takes over. He falls asleep with that last thought still on his mind.

It’s the most peaceful night he’s had since arriving.


	2. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get something out before school starts again tomorrow! This is like ..... purely indulgent. Yikes.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: dub-con. It's a tricky situation where neither boy can control what they're doing, but they feel as though they want to do it. No one forces anyone, but because it's an instinctual thing, yeah, consent is dubious here. Minor blood play/blood mention, biting, and angst.
> 
> Also, sorry about Kevin. love u kev.

He heard Wymack talking about it with Abby, so he knows it’s true.

Andrew and Renee are leaving on a trip together for the weekend.

Immediately upon hearing it, Neil felt unsettled.

There are so many things wrong with it that Neil doesn’t even know where to begin in sorting it out. Andrew wouldn’t leave the shelter for that long. He wouldn’t leave Kevin . . . and Neil sort of hopes that Andrew wouldn’t leave him, either.

Then there’s Renee.

Who seems lovely, but maybe too lovely, because nobody is that lovely. Andrew wouldn’t involve himself with anybody who seems so false, Neil knows this. So then what does he see in Renee?

They hardly interact with one another, and when they do it’s in a way that Neil doesn’t understand.

An awful thought sits in Neil’s mind and pricks at his chest, made all the more annoying when he _knows_ he has no right to be uncomfortable with it. If Andrew and Renee are together then . . . then that would be great, maybe, but - but then wouldn’t Neil smell Renee on Andrew more frequently? And wouldn’t Neil have heard about it by now?

No. No, they can’t be together. Renee is just as much an alpha as Andrew, and a combo like that is hard to work out.

Still. That doesn’t make the urge to fight her whenever they cross paths any lesser.

Still. That doesn’t make Neil any less irritated about being kept in the dark about Andrew’s apparent trip with Renee. Either it’s instinctual or an action fueled by spite, but Neil avoids Andrew throughout the day. Neil really can’t pinpoint this feeling, but it burns like fire.

Whatever. If Andrew wants to hide things, then Neil will hide himself. He stays in all the places that Andrew rarely visits, and leaves the room whenever he gets too close.

Except it’s a lot harder than Neil thought, avoiding Andrew. Not the avoidance part - but the being away from him part. It’s rare to go a day without being in close proximity. Whether it be riding in the front seat of Andrew’s car, or claiming the spot next to him at the dining hall table, or being sure to sit by his feet during movie night. Neil’s grown too used to having Andrew’s presence against his skin.

So when Neil goes to cross the lounge for the staircase and sees Andrew laying out on his couch, Neil freezes, and his world narrows down into the two hardest choices of his life; go upstairs and ignore him, or stay down here and demand some much deserved answers.

Spite wins over, and Neil takes off for the stairs, only for Andrew to suddenly call out, “Runaway.”

Neil stalls halfway across the room, turning a sharp look on Andrew. “That’s not my name.”

Andrew flips a page in the book he’s reading and doesn’t look up. “What _is_ your name?”

Neil’s mouth twitches at that, the blatant knowledge that Neil isn’t who he says he is.

“What do you want?”

“The better question is what do you want?” Andrew flips another page. “You clearly want something.”

Neil taps his foot against the hardwood floor and chews on his lip. Annoyance and hurt rattle around his chest in a brawl until he snaps. “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he says, coming right up to the couch to look down at Andrew. “Where are you going? And why are you going with Renee?”

Andrew puts his book down and graces Neil with a smile, cool and silent.

It’s jarring, and irritating, and infuriating, and - “ _What?_ ” he yelps.

“Renee and I are travelling to a shelter outside of Columbia for the weekend. The two of us are helping with the shelter’s new self-defense program, much like the program we run here.”

Neil’s jaw drops a little, as that was the last thing he was expecting. “Wait. What?”

“Is this news to you, Neil?”

“With - Renee?”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so worked up. Yes, with Renee.”

Neil blinks quickly and takes a step back. “Oh. I’m -” He should say sorry, but he isn’t sorry. “I didn’t know.”

Andrew hums. “So involved in your own little world.”

Disappointment drifts through Neil’s chest a little. He fidgets with his arms and asks, “. . . how long will you be gone for?”

“We leave tonight, come back Monday morning.”

“Alright.” Neil’s voice is raspier than it should be. “That’s -”

“Will you be able to handle that?” Andrew asks, and at first it sounds condescending, but then it sounds like concern.

All at once, Neil’s wounds feel healed over. He takes an unconscious step closer to Andrew and shrugs. “I can survive just fine on my own.”

“Not what I was asking.”

Neil shrugs again, wanting so badly to say something - but he doesn't know what to say. He just _wants_. “Having you around . . . when you’re around, I can’t smell him anymore. There’s just - you.”

His face threatens to heat and flush under Andrew’s gaze, but Neil manages a calm breath. It feels good to get this barb of a secret out of his lungs.

Andrew looks up at Neil, his cool smile returning.

“Interesting.” When all Neil does is fidget some more, Andrew flicks his fingers and says, “Nice bout of honesty there. You are dismissed.”

Neil stares for a few seconds longer, until Andrew settles back on the couch and picks up his book. Not wanting to leave, Neil does it anyway.

Once the sun has gone down and the shelter lights have gone out, Neil lays awake and stares at the ceiling. It’s just a few days. Neil’s spent years alone. He can handle a few days.

He hears the click of a lock somewhere outside, and immediately senses Andrew approaching his room. Neil jolts from bed and rushes to his door, unlocking it and swinging it open.

Andrew is standing there expectantly, a blank look on his face.

“You’re leaving now?” Neil asks, his voice scratching slightly. Andrew nods, indicating to the bag over his shoulder. Neil sighs a little and drops his head. “Okay.”

“Monday morning,” Andrew says, then shoves something into Neil’s chest. By time Neil looks down and up, Andrew is already walking away. Neil stares after him until he’s gone, then finally looks down at the soft fabric in his hands.

He steps back into his bedroom and shuts his door, then pulls Andrew’s sweater on.

-

He senses distress in the way you feel humidity.

As soon as he feels it, he can’t focus. It’s faint and well-managed, not wild and erratic like how his own often is. Neil leaves his room to follow its trail, down to the ground floor, past the front office and towards the wellness ward, where Abby’s office and clinic are. The closer he gets, the more it smells - familiar.

Then he realizes, and Neil breaks out into a run.

He bursts through the door to the lobby of the clinic just in time to see Andrew leaving Abby’s office. His scent hits Neil like a punch to the nose; Neil reels backwards and Andrew comes to a standstill.

All it takes is two seconds before the distress is being concealed. “Move,” Andrew orders, his eyes fierce on Neil’s.

Neil takes a deep breath - smelling blood, smelling fear. He shakes his head. “No.”

Andrew moves in close enough to wrap his hand around Neil’s throat and push him backwards. It doesn’t hurt, so Neil goes with the movement. Andrew’s pulse is audible this close, a physical weight against Neil’s skin.

Neil glances down, trying to place where the scent of blood is coming from. There’s a piece of tape over a cotton ball on his forearm, Andrew’s armband slightly pulled down to accommodate it.

A blood test.

Neil raises his hands by his head, then slowly places one around Andrew’s to pull it away from his neck. The fact that Andrew allows it encourages Neil to fold his fingers around Andrew’s. “Not a fan of needles?”

Andrew grunts, taking a step closer into Neil’s space. “Not a fan of being stabbed twenty times for one vial of blood.”

Neil hums, and feels an urge rip through him that’s impossible to ignore. It’s like holding your breath - when your body needs to breathe again, it will breathe. So he just _does_ it.

He bends down a little, pulls at Andrew’s arm a little, and presses his lips to the strip of tape, just a little.

Andrew’s blood is running wild underneath it. His stance stiffens, then slowly softens.

Neil backs off, only to lightly rub his thumb over the spot.

Andrew’s mouth opens to say something, but that’s when Abby chooses to leave her office. The sound of her footsteps tear apart the world. “Oh, Neil, hello,” she says, or at least, Neil thinks she says.

Because Andrew’s free hand has found purchase in Neil’s shirt, gripping it tight.

He should probably answer Abby, or at least acknowledge her, but he can’t look away from Andrew. He watches and holds on until Andrew’s blood is a steady stream and not a rushing river, then leans forward to rub his nose at Andrew’s jaw.

He can’t explain it. He really can’t. He just has to do it.

Andrew grunts again, sounding more like acceptance then dismissal. Then he rips himself out of Neil’s hold, leaving Neil in the room with Abby.

Neil’s heart is now the one that’s racing.

“You and Andrew are certainly getting along well now . . .” Abby says, one of her brows arched, her smile kind but confused.

“What do you mean?” Neil asks, eyeing her strangely.

Her smile shifts into soft as her eyes drift to the shelf of pamphlets. “Neil, maybe we could schedule an appointment to talk about -” Abby glances at Neil, at his confused and terrified expression, and shrugs her shoulders. “Ah, nevermind. Another time.”

Neil doesn’t understand, so he leaves before he has to.

-

The kitchen is more full than it’s ever been, what with Nicky and Renee making everyone in the shelter dinner tonight. Neil sits at a bar stool at the kitchen island, happy to just watch, knowing that he hasn’t a single cooking skill in his body. Andrew is sitting on the counter beside Neil, his dangling leg brushing Neil’s arm.

Nicky stands on the other side of the island, a chopping board and a load of vegetables before him. Neil knows he should be watching Nicky more intently, because his biggest weakness on the run was preparing decent food, but Andrew’s presence is serving as a great distraction.

Andrew reaches across the countertop and snags what appears to be a slice of a pepper off the cutting board.

Nicky swats at his hand. “Andrew, that’s for dinner!”

Andrew shrugs. “Taste-testing. Neil?” He takes a bite, then offers the rest of the red pepper to Neil.

Neil grimaces, craning his head back to avoid contact. He says in a flat, cold voice, “No.”

“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never seen Neil eat a single vegetable since coming here,” Nicky says, one hand on his cocked hip, his other hand waving his knife around. “No wonder you’re so little.”

Before Neil can attack Nicky with a glare, Andrew is holding his hand up to block his vision. “Neil,” he says, in that voice of his, and holds the pepper to Neil’s mouth.

Neil sighs, scrunches up his nose, and opens his mouth for Andrew.

He’s been through it - situations that the average human’s mind could not even imagine, but eating the pepper feels as if he’s eating glass. He can’t chew or swallow without wincing.

But the look on Andrew’s face makes it worth it. The contentment in Neil’s chest is louder than the wounds. He hardly even notices there’s anyone else in the room, and he definitely doesn’t pay attention to Nicky’s shocked expression.

“What . . . what did I just witness? Did anyone else see that? Hello!”

Everyone else stops their tasks to look over at Neil and Andrew. Neil feels a whine crawling up his throat, a flush spreading across his face, so he hides his face in his arms to block everyone out.

Fingers slide through Neil’s hair, nails dragging across his scalp in a way that sends shudders down Neil’s spine. Rather than tense up or move away from it, Neil relaxes under it. He tilts his head to gaze up at Andrew, but Andrew is more focused on finishing off the pepper.

Nobody says anything, not even Nicky. It feels safe enough for Neil to close his eyes again, so he does. Andrew’s hand stays in Neil’s hair, and Neil stays by Andrew’s side.

-

Every six months, the city performs an inspection on the shelter. Every room and hall is gone through and cleaned beforehand.

Every room, including Neil’s.

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten used to the idea of having his own space, but he did, and being locked out of that space while strange people took apart his things and sterilized them had Neil anxious all day.

The cleaning crew left a bit past three o’clock, but now, nearly nine, Neil still hasn’t gone back to his room. It already feels like someone’s been inside his chest, shifting things around, but to actually see it in physical form would be too much.

He sits with his bag on his back on the top stair leading to his floor, waiting until he feels brave enough to go and open his door. He’s being stupid and he knows it. Nothing is ever perfect. Nothing is ever right. This has been his life.

Around ten, he finally gets up and approaches his bedroom. Immediately his senses are flooded with the scent of cleaning chemicals and unknown people. Neil hesitates with his hand around the doorknob, his heart going cold.

It smells like being lost.

Neil quickly takes his hand away and instead folds it around the strap of his backpack. He goes back downstairs to the lounge. All the lights have been turned off, everyone most likely in bed. Neil wishes it could be that easy for him.

He won’t sleep tonight, not really, but he’ll at least lay down. Andrew’s couch is the most familiar thing in the world, so Neil curls up in the corner of it and sighs, relieved for the moment. He pulls Andrew’s sweater from his bag and tucks it under his head.

And, somehow, sleep comes right after that.

He wakes up sometime later by someone poking him - Nicky is sitting on the back of the couch, with Kevin right behind him.

Neil blinks sleep out of his eyes and mumbles, “Andrew -”

An irritated expression crosses Kevin’s face, while Nicky laughs. “Aww, you want ‘Drew?”

“You know better than to call me that.” Andrew’s voice is a pleasant surprise. Neil looks away from Nicky to find Andrew entering the room, coming up to Neil’s side of the couch and shoving  
Nicky off the back of it.

Nicky’s yelp and Kevin’s sigh are swallowed up by the expression Andrew’s wearing. He looks - well, Neil’s greatest skill is his sense of smell, so his only conclusion is that Andrew is - mad.

“What are you doing down here?” Andrew asks, his tone even and his gaze cool.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Neil answers, beginning to sit up slightly. “Not in my room.”

“You should have come to me.”

“I didn’t want to annoy you, okay? I’m sor-” He doesn’t finish that sentence, because it’s then that he realizes everyone is staring at what Neil had buried beneath his head.

Neil scrambles to grab it and stash it behind him. His heartbeat might as well be a police siren.

The couch dips with Andrew’s added weight. He sits down next to Neil and grabs at Neil’s chin, guiding his face to his. Neil was lost before, and he thinks he might be more lost now, but for some reason he just feels found.

It’s another thing he just has to do; no choice, no voice, no decision.

His body is pulled to Andrew’s like the force of a magnet. All of his worry and anxiety and fear seeks out Andrew, because handling it on his own can be done, but with Andrew it’s so much easier. Once Neil’s got his face pressed to Andrew’s neck, he can finally breathe.

His hands curl into the front of Andrew’s shirt and his body curves to fit alongside Andrew as best it can. To get as much of him as possible, wherever he can.

“Uhh . . .” Nicky drawls, looking from Neil and Andrew to Kevin.

Neil is watching them as they quickly leave the room, but he doesn’t even notice.

He is not an emotional person because he cannot afford to be one. He buried his own mother and to have shed any tears would have cost Neil a lifetime. That’s not to say he isn’t an angry person, or a fearful person, or even a frustrated person.

He just can’t be sad, because he just can’t be lonely.

Now, with the sense of safety wrapping his body, Neil feels like he might be wrong about himself. Andrew’s scent burns up Neil’s nose and fills Neil’s lungs with relief. To not cry would be impossible.

His eyes well up, but no matter how fast he blinks them closed, the tears remain.

He presses closer to Andrew’s steady pulse and all Andrew does is let him.

“I’m sorry,” Neil says, coughing a bit. He should feel shame now, he thinks, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not anything.”

Neil pulls away from Andrew’s neck just enough to glare at him. “You can lie to my face all you want. It won’t change the truth.”

Andrew grits his teeth, thinks, then says, “This is not anger.”

He abruptly stands, hands clenching into fists by his side. His anger no longer seems like anger then, and Neil realizes it’s because it never was. No, no . . . this scent is from before, from the first time Neil slept in Andrew’s bed.

Whatever it is, something stirs low in Neil’s belly when Andrew turns to look at him.

“Go wash up. You smell awful.”

Neil sniffles once, then is quick to move on from his tears. He grabs his bag and makes his way for his bedroom, a little less afraid now of being lost.

Because he knows he’ll be found.

-

Being alone with Kevin is a challenge.

Although he’s a higher status than Neil, he doesn’t act like it. When he fights, he always gives Neil an in, a sliver of space to wedge himself into and win every single argument. Neil loves to push Kevin’s buttons to get him angrier; it feels like more of a win that way.

Of course it always comes back to the vegetables, and Neil thinks this might be a fight he just won’t win.

“I’m not eating that.”

“If you’re to train in the gym, you have to eat enough for it.”

“I do eat enough. I just don’t eat garbage.”

“Neil!” Kevin shouts, then begins to growl. “It’s a salad. Just eat it.”

Neil frowns, eyeing the orange-green-red monstrosity in the bowl Kevin’s offering. “Can I just have an apple?”

“An apple will only carry you so far.”

“Then I’ll have two apples.”

“Neil.”

“I’m not putting whatever that is in my mouth. Why is it orange?”

“Those are carrots - Neil, put the apple down. Neil -” Kevin sighs and turns towards the kitchen entrance. “Andrew!”

Neil immediately drops the apple to the counter.

Andrew strolls in a few seconds later and rests up against the fridge. “This better be good.”

Kevin crosses his arms over his chest and indicates towards Neil. “Tell him to eat his salad.”

Andrew never once looks at Neil, keeping his sharp gaze on Kevin. “Since when do I control Neil?”

Neil laughs, feeling warm from his head to his toes. He picks the apple back up again and says, “See?”

“All he’s had today is a piece of plain bread and that apple. He needs something real,” Kevin explains, rubbing circles into his temples.

Neil is just about to bite into his apple when Andrew looks at him. Any amusement in Andrew’s expression has been wiped out. His eyes are judgement and ice.

Neil stares back until he no longer feels strong enough. “Fine.” He grabs for the salad, gulps, and shuts his eyes. He takes a few bites, and it’s not truly terrible, but Neil has eaten and is used to eating expired canned food, and he’d rather have that.

He manages half of the bowl before the annoying pieces of kale become too much, and reaches for his glass of water. Neil glares at Kevin while he swallows down large mouthfuls.

Andrew makes a noise, a slight hum that sounds like approval. He moves the bar stool next to Neil out of the way and stands next to him. Neil quickly abandons his water cup and his stare-down with Kevin in favour of turning towards Andrew.

Peace falls over all the walls when Andrew slides his fingers through Neil’s hair. He presses his nose to Neil’s temple and says, “Good boy.”

The words delete everything; Kevin, the room, the ground, the unimportant.

Neil melts against Andrew’s side and feels something turn and settle calmly in his chest. Before Andrew pulls away, he noses his way down Neil’s jaw and presses his lips there.

Then he’s snags the rest of the salad for himself and leaves the kitchen.

Kevin looks at Neil oddly, but he doesn’t bother him again.

-

Neil leaves behind the torrential downpour and enters the shelter, eager to seek peace and warmth after a long run in the rain. The shelter is warm, but it isn’t peaceful - Neil comes to an immediate standstill as soon as he’s in the lobby.

As if on cue, Nicky comes barrelling down the stairs, running full speed at Neil. It’s his frantic scent that Neil’s sensing. More frantic than usual.

“Neil!” Nicky cries, skidding to a halt one foot away from Neil. “You’re back! You need to come upstairs and tame your pet dragon. Or your owner dragon.”

Neil glares at Nicky, but doesn’t dwell on that last sentiment. “What’s wrong?” He can’t smell anything but his own sweat, the rain, and Nicky’s increasing panic.

“First of all, he attacked Kevin. Second of all, he attacked Kevin! And third of all - have I mentioned that he _attacked_ Kevin? Seriously Neil, there’s a dent in the wall from Kevin’s head.”

None of it adds up; Andrew being that angry, Andrew being that angry at Kevin, Andrew hurting Kevin.

None of it makes sense but Neil’s insides are churning now to find a solution.

“What happened? What did Kevin do?” Neil asks, his voice oddly hard in his throat.

“I don’t know! Neither of them will talk.” Nicky runs a hand through his long hair and groans. “I heard something smash up in Andrew’s room, and I know a good warning when I hear one. He needs you.”

Neil was just about to make a run for the stairs, but he stops. “Andrew doesn’t need anything.”

“Neil,” Nicky pleads, putting a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Come on. We can all see it.”

Neil wants to glare again and rip away from Nicky’s hand, but somehow, he understands. It’s confusing, but it all makes sense, a piece of information stored away in Neil’s brain that he’s had since the dawn of time. He hasn’t the slightest idea what to do about it, or even what it is.

“Stay down here. Don’t even think about trying to bother us.”

“Ooh, I like when you give orders. Yes sir!”

Neil pushes past Nicky and ventures for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Then he does smell it, so thick and all-consuming. Anger is everywhere - and this time, it really is anger, because underneath it Neil can sense the scent from before. He can tell the difference now - he just isn’t sure what the unknown scent is.

Having run upstairs, urgent to get to Andrew, Neil walks slowly now. Trying to place things, trying to come up with an answer before he asks the question, but as careful as he walks, Andrew’s door comes into view much too soon.

Blood is in the air again. Urgency sinks into Neil’s system, but he ignores it and knocks on the door. “Andrew, it’s me.” He knocks again, but there is no answer. “Andrew, will you let me in?”

“Get out of here,” Andrew’s voice comes through the door, sounding strained.

Neil rests his hand against the door and lowers his voice. “Andrew . . . Nicky said you attacked Kevin. From my understanding, you aren’t supposed to attack Kevin.”

“You have exactly two seconds to fuck off.”

“Andrew,” Neil tries again. “I think you need -”

The door suddenly opens out from under Neil’s hand. Andrew grabs at Neil’s arms and pulls him in, slams the door, and shoves Neil harshly against the wood. “If you finish that sentence with ‘me’ I will rip your throat out.”

Even with such a threat and so much anger, Neil goes still and doesn’t flinch.

“Okay,” Neil says, and lowers his head just enough to be closer to Andrew’s face. “Finish it for me then.”

Andrew growls, his eyes searching Neil’s eyes; taking in his wet hair, his reddened complexion, his thumping pulse. He looks confused in a way Neil has never seen before, like he doesn’t know what to do - or, like he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know why.

Neil doesn’t either, but he trusts it, he believes in whatever is happening. He can’t not. You can’t be skeptical of your own heart beating.

Andrew lets go of one of Neil’s arms in favour of grabbing at his chin, pointing his face upwards. Something warm and wet smears across Neil’s skin, and it’s then Neil realizes Andrew is bleeding.

Severely.

He whines because of it, worry being his natural response to the sight and smell of blood. Other than that, he can’t say a thing. Words feel useless here. They’ll never mean enough, never be able to describe what he needs.

It’s only actions and glances that can convey this message; Neil looks from Andrew’s bloody hand to his face, then guides Andrew’s hand away from his chin and closer to his mouth. His split knuckles and torn-up fingers demand questions, but all Neil can do is gently press his lips to them.

Blood is a heady, heavy scent. Metallic and bitter. The taste is something else, something secret, something better. Even if Neil wanted to stop, he wouldn’t be able to; they’re slotted into their instinctual positions now and nothing natural can part them.

Neil clasps at Andrew’s wrist to hold it still, and doesn’t stop licking at his cut skin until the blood is gone. It makes him feel dizzy, and it makes him feel brave. It coats his face, cheeks, chin, throat.

Andrew watches, his eyes half-lidded and gaze a physical weight against Neil. His heartbeat isn’t as fast anymore, his blood isn’t a hurricane tearing apart his veins. He doesn’t make any movement to stop Neil, not until Neil eventually noses down Andrew’s palm to get to his wrist.

The armbands stop Neil from touching skin, but Neil still presses his lips there.

Then Andrew stops him. He pushes Neil back by both shoulders, ignores the whine that slips past Neil’s lips, and drives his face into Neil’s neck. His lips aren’t like Neil’s, they move viciously and fast. Neil’s blood rises underneath his skin to get closer to the source of Andrew’s heat; his pulse stammers and beats erratically.

Words and thoughts disappear. They’ll never need them again.

Andrew pulls at the collar of Neil’s windbreaker and growls when it doesn’t disappear at his whim. His wounded hands shake as he tries to work at the zipper. Neil doesn’t know why he needs to take it off, but he also knows that it needs to be off _now_. He tries to help Andrew, but is cut off by Andrew’s agitated snarl and a thrust of Andrew’s body against his.

Neil goes still and listens.

Only for the zipper to get caught on its way down. Andrew looks up at Neil with intense eyes, sighs, and says, “Hurry.”

Neil manages a smile, and even though his own hands are wet and trembling, he works the zipper and takes off the jacket. It hits the ground the same time that Andrew’s knees do.

His hands roam up and under Neil’s shirt, while he works his mouth over Neil’s lower abdomen. There’s a weight in Neil’s stomach that pulls him down to the ground too, having felt unsteady without Andrew there to hold him up. Andrew guides him with his hands on Neil’s hips, until Neil is sitting with his back to the door and his legs bent open; a home for Andrew to sit between.

There’s no pattern or rhythm to these touches. Andrew’s hands are on Neil’s shoulders one second and then under his shirt to feel at his chest for another. He bends down just enough to get to Neil’s stomach, and then he doesn’t stop trailing down, down, down, until he gets to Neil’s crotch.

And then Andrew whines. Not a growl, or a snarl, or a curse, but a whine.

Neil’s body rings from it. He feels himself tighten and contract, and the entire world tilts a bit when he smells the need radiating off of Andrew.

It’s Neil’s instinct to answer that need.

It’s Neil’s decision.

He wants to say yes, but the only word his voice can form is, “Andrew.”

Andrew’s response is to grab and jostle Neil around until he’s situated right over Andrew’s lap. He feels an immediate hardness pressing against his, and as much as Neil wants to roll himself against it, there’s an order in Andrew’s eyes that stops him.

Andrew’s mouth opens, as if to say something, but instead he lifts Neil’s hands above his head and pins them to the wall. Neil doesn’t need words to hear that plea; he stays.

He stays, but there’s no filter on his mouth. When Andrew rocks himself forwards, pressing all of his strength against Neil, Neil makes a noise that rebounds off every wall. It does nothing to impede Andrew. If anything, it makes him move faster.

They’re jerky thrusts at best, wild and unruly. They make Neil feel delirious.

His mind is coated in fog. The only light is Andrew, and Neil chases him.

Andrew places his hands on Neil’s hips to pull him closer, to line them up almost perfectly. Neil can feel himself getting wet, an awful-amazing thrill that has all of Neil’s instincts working hand in hand now.  

Working with Andrew’s now, too.

His arms don’t even ache. Nothing hurts because nothing is wrong because everything is finally right. He’s standing on a tightrope one thousand feet in the air - and falling is the best part, because he’s safe. Fall as much as you want, it’s okay here. They’re okay here.

The scent that Neil loves and wonders about so much drenches the air. So intoxicating that Neil wants to swim in it. He wants to press his face to Andrew’s abdomen and drink it in. He wants to roll onto his knees because of it.

He parts them slightly, giving Andrew more access to all of him. Andrew grabs and lifts at Neil on the next thrust, and then flips them over so suddenly the world tilts with them. Neil’s back hits the floor and Andrew’s body fits over his.

There are shards of glass scattered all around them, the remains of whatever Andrew destroyed with his hands. Neil pays no mind to it, because Andrew will not destroy him.

Andrew’s weight is perfect, balancing out all of Neil’s weakest spots. He pins him down in all the right places, and Neil wonders why he ever wanted to run from here. This is home.

Their rhythm is better this way. Less shaky and confusing. But it’s quicker now, and Neil can’t keep up. All he can do is lay back and take, as Andrew humps himself against Neil, giving giving and giving.

Neil wants to never look away from Andrew but he feels overwhelmed when he does. There are too many messages in Andrew’s eyes and right now, with his body and heat between Neil’s legs, Neil can’t read anything. He turns his head to the side and cries out, loud, because it’s so much, because he wants more.

Because he wants to roll over now and give himself completely to Andrew, but Andrew’s body won’t let him. Andrew growls and bites at Neil’s neck to get him to stop moving, and Neil goes pliant.

Neil didn’t realize he was so close until it’s a thought processed in hindsight. He suddenly snaps and begins to cry, jerking upwards against Andrew’s still-frantic thrusts. Neil’s shorts are more soaked than before, and he feels his eyes well up at the overwhelming feeling. Andrew holds him close, keeps his mouth at Neil’s neck, and keeps going.

Animal-like movements, because they are animals. Instinctual.

It has to be right, because nothing else makes sense.

Neil is confused, but he has no questions, because he knows all the answers.

When Andrew comes, something inside of Neil breaks. He starts crying, he starts clawing, starts clinging to Andrew’s trembling form - because Neil can sense all of Andrew, and what he senses now is distress and not pleasure.

Andrew goes still, noses at Neil’s pulse point for a moment, then slowly pulls back.

Neil wants to sit up and follow him, but something in Andrew’s eyes has him staying down. He whines, all he can do to convey what he means to Andrew, but Andrew is pointedly looking at the far wall.

“Leave.”

Neil’s heart kicks into overdrive, into panic-mode. He starts shaking his head, tries to form the word ‘no’ but he can’t.

“Get _out_ of here before _I hurt you_ ,” Andrew suddenly snarls, and when he looks back at Neil there is pure fear in his eyes.

Neil tenses. He knows better than to ignore an order from Andrew, but this doesn’t sound like an order, it sounds like a plea.

“No,” Neil finally manages, sitting upright. His body hurts now, having just released all of himself for Andrew and receiving nothing in return.

“Neil.” Andrew wraps a hand around Neil’s neck and pulls him close, and whispers at his temple, “I need you to leave.”

Neil can’t ignore that.

With shaking legs and a failing heart, Neil gets to his feet and tries for the door. Glass crunches under his feet, Andrew’s gaze stays on his back, and Neil now feels the consequences of falling.

Once out in the hallway, the door slams behind him. Neil doesn’t go very far, instead choosing to rest all of his weight against the door. Nothing smells good or right anymore. The blood is drying around his neck. The confusion takes over.

If this is what they’re meant for, then why deny it?

If this is what they’re meant for . . . then why does something feel wrong?

-

He senses Kevin before he hears or sees him.

Not looking up from where he’s digging through the fridge, Neil calls out, “If you’re here to make me eat another vegetable, I’ll bite you.”

He grabs a cup of yogurt and closes the fridge, then looks over at Kevin in the doorway. There isn’t a single emotion or scent coming off of him.

“What?” Neil asks, dread balling up in his throat.

“We need to talk.”

Kevin usually sounds dead serious, but now it actually sounds like it’s about something important. “Should I go get Andrew?” He knows Andrew won’t talk to either of them, but he’d feel better if he was nearby.

“Leave Andrew out of this.”

“Is this about Andrew?”

“Yes. Sit down.”

Neil winces a little at the order; his body tells him to listen, but his mind hates obeying Kevin. “I’d prefer to stand.”

Kevin just sighs and leaves it. He takes a daunting step closer and uses his height advantage to stare Neil down.

“You need to leave.”

Neil immediately opens his mouth to interject, but Kevin continues; “You are a threat to this entire shelter. You’re running from something. We all know you are. The longer you stay, the more dangerous you make it for everyone else here.”

Neil glowers up, up, up at Kevin and sneers. “The foundation of this shelter is built on safety. I have just as much right to be here as you do. What are you really on about?”

Kevin folds his arms across his chest and says, “You know exactly what I’m on about. Look at you, ready to run at any second. You won’t stay either way. You’re going to leave at the first sign of danger, and you’re going to take Andrew down with you.”

Kevin is right about the former, but not about the latter.

“Andrew is his own person. He can do what he wants.”

“Tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

Neil stares at him, unblinking.

“Do you know how any of this works?” Kevin shouts, and when Neil shrugs, he groans. “I don’t have time to explain this to you, you child. If you really care about Andrew, about any of us, then you will leave.”

Neil turns to look at the ground. He knew safety wouldn’t last. Even if there weren’t anybody looking for him out there, he suddenly feels unsafe in here.

“Okay,” he says, and he never knew acceptance could hurt so bad. “When should I go?”

“Andrew is out at the moment. You should be gone before he returns.”

There’s an awful, unbearable pain in Neil’s chest. He puts his hand over it and wills for it to go away, but just like fear, it stays. Kevin is right. Andrew hasn’t said a word to Neil in two days, ever since he ordered Neil to leave.

 _Before I hurt you,_ Andrew had said, but what he really meant was _Before you hurt me._

Neil takes a deep breath, then escapes from the kitchen before Kevin can say anything.

It’s been weeks since Neil’s had his bag perfectly packed and ready to go at any second, but instinct doesn’t die, so Neil has it ready to go within minutes. Essentials only, but -

The last thing he packs is Andrew’s sweater. He pulls it from under his pillow, balls it up in his hands, and holds it close.

Then he’s got his shoes on and his bag over his shoulder and his bedroom door locked behind him.

Neil goes to run, but it seems he forgot how. He stalls there in the hallway and wishes so badly that he didn’t have to leave.

This would have to happen eventually.

With one last inhale, exhale, Neil takes off, and he doesn’t stop. He runs down the stairs and through the lobby, past Wymack yelling out his name, past Renee and her friendly hello. This isn’t a normal run. God, no. This is a sprint, and the finish line doesn’t exist, and he will die if he ever slows down.

By time Neil’s body demands him to breathe, Neil is far away. So far away that not a scent is familiar; not a tree, car, house, street or person. Sweat and panic surround him and his sense of direction leads him nowhere.

He lets out a whimper that will never be heard, and decides that when you’re lost, you can only keep running.

It’s dark and pouring rain when he finally stops. He doesn’t remember when he left, but he wishes he had finished that yogurt cup at least. He should have been prepared.

Foolish and stupid, that’s what he had been. He was born with the knowledge that he would always have to leave. So dumb to have believed otherwise.

He finds an empty street with little traffic and seeks out a bench near the corner. Once he’s sure his surroundings are safe, he goes through his things. He has enough money to get through the next two weeks without any problems. He’ll have to leave the state if he wants to find the rest of it. A new ID will be necessary eventually. A new hair colour, a new look, a new person.

Leave, change, run, that’s been the process of Neil’s life.

Now he hasn’t a clue what to do, because that three-part process doesn’t feel right.

With a slight sniffle, Neil pulls out his map. The rain immediately dampens it, but all Neil needs to do is plot a path out of here. He can get a new one later. He buried his mother in the west, so he doesn’t want to go there. Perhaps another country, or even another continent.

If only another universe was an option.

He stashes the map away and pulls out Andrew’s sweater next. The scent is masked by the rain but shoving his face into the fabric brings it all back; the memories, the safety, the want and the need.

What did Kevin even mean?

Neil knows, if he really thinks about it. Or doesn’t think about it. It’s just something you know and can’t detest, the same way Neil knows he’s an omega. You can’t change it. It is who you are.

He should throw out this sweater, leave and wash away any trace of Andrew, for good and for forever. Neil isn’t meant to stay, so he shouldn’t be meant for Andrew.

Neil sits on that bench forever. His legs go stiff. His feet feel numb. He has everywhere to go but no clue how to start going there.

He digs his phone out of his pocket and squints at the screen. The battery charge is at seven percent. He only carries it because of Andrew, anyway.

There are a million texts and missed calls from Nicky, one from Wymack and Abby, and one missed call from Andrew. Neil has to close his eyes.

He hears a noise and looks down, and his heart stops in his chest when he realizes he had hit the call button on Andrew’s name. He must have meant to do it, even if he wasn’t aware. Neil raises the phone to his ear and stops breathing.

Andrew answers on the second ring.

“My phone is going to die soon,” is what Neil chooses to say, his eyes closing again. “I just called to say -”

He doesn’t know why he called. He has never said goodbye before.

“Andrew, can you come and get me?”

A lifetime of instinct sings out in relief, but ten years of running has him grinding his teeth. His chest feels infinitely lighter now, but he has to press his feet into the ground to keep himself still and steady.

“What are you looking at right now?” Andrew asks, not a hint of anything in his voice.

Neil gasps out a little, a sad sort of sob, and looks through the rain for his nearest identifiers. “There’s a gas station on the corner . . . a bakery on the other side of it . . um . . I think the street sign says ‘Wellworth’.”

“Stay where you are.”

Andrew hangs up, but Neil keeps his phone to his ear for what feels like an eternity. Everything is rain-scented and full of fear. He’s paralyzed from the waist down. Can’t run. Doesn’t even want to run. He just wants to be taken away from here.

It was always an amazing feeling, to leave and have a home to come back to.

The rain might as well be air now. In his lungs and clothes. But he sits and waits right where he is, just like Andrew said to.

Eventually a car is pulling up near the empty gas station, recognizably Andrew’s even in the dark and the rain. Neil stays where he is. The front door of the car opens and a dark figure steps out, not caring once about the downpour around them.

He approaches Neil and looks down at him, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, his gaze relaying nothing.

Neil doesn’t know what to say.

He isn’t sorry, but he is.

He isn’t scared, but he is.

He isn’t anything and he’s nothing but he’s everything when Andrew reaches out and pulls Neil to his feet.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and hauls Neil over to the waiting car. He throws him down into the passenger seat and gets in on his side. They sit in silence for a full minute before Andrew says, “I’ll take my explanation now.”

“I don’t know what to explain. I ran.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I should have done in the beginning.”

“Then why did you stay?”

Neil shuts his eyes and begins to shiver. The cold is finally settling it, and it hurts all the way down in Neil’s bones. Andrew seems alert about it, his posture more tense as he takes in Neil’s shaking body, but he makes no move to do anything about it.

“Why did you do this to me?” Neil asks instead of answering. “I know I’m not safe here, but you make me want to stay here.”

“I’m not in control of you.”

“But you are, and you know you are. In the same way I’m in control of you.” It makes no sense, but it’s exactly what he means. “We can’t control this - we just _do it._ ”

Andrew is silent with his acceptance, but he doesn’t look happy about it. So Neil gives a helpless shrug and says, “So that’s why I need to go. I can’t stay.” He moves to open his door but Andrew jerks across the console to pull it closed.

“Kevin told me you would do this. He said you would run, and that I would be a fool if I followed. I am not a fool, Neil.” He looks at Neil, and for once, Neil has no clue what he could be saying. “So I can’t let you go.”

“There are people out there, Andrew, and if they find me, they’ll take me. It’s better if -”

“Nobody is going to take you anywhere away from here. Do you understand?”

And if it could be that simple, then Neil wouldn’t have run. But it isn’t. Nothing is simple. Not even this. “You can’t stop him.”

The world breaks and connects in the moments between Andrew grabbing at Neil’s face and Andrew pulling Neil closer. His skin is searingly hot against him. Neil whimpers.

“What’s mine is mine, and nobody else’s,” he says like a promise, and he seals it with his lips on Neil’s neck. It’s still sensitive from when Andrew last bit down on him, but it brings immediate peace to this war of a world.

This bite is different, however, starting off slight and gentle, until fangs finally break skin. Just enough to make Neil whine and twist in his seat. Neil reaches up to grab at Andrew’s wrists; not to push him away, but to hold on because it feels like his insides are unravelling fast.

Andrew keeps his mouth to Neil’s skin and says, “You are going to stay, because I do not enjoy running. I am not following you any further than this.”

Neil manages a weak nod, but just like before, words mean next to nothing here. It’s said in the thrum of blood under skin, in Neil’s submission to Andrew’s bite, in Andrew’s careful teeth on Neil’s neck, and in the safety between their bodies, finally close again.

Andrew bites down hard enough to draw the slightest bit of blood, like he is supposed to, and Neil allows it.

Because he wants to.


	3. Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo, long time no see. So, funny story: I actually started writing this the very same day that I posted chapter two. In fact, I wrote at least 11k of this during those first few days. Then things got tricky, bc obviously there are some complicated and serious issues at hand that I wanted to really work on. Then I had to fully form an ending, which after months and months of thinking, I finally got it together today!! Also, I had to edit it so precisely to get it to 16,000 words exactly since the last 2 chapters were both at a perfect thousand. love u ocd
> 
> Anyways, nobody asked for my life story. This could probably use another read thru but my eyes are dead and I just want 2 release it into the world! So if you notice anything horrible, pls hit a girl up ♥
> 
> Warnings: dub-con, as this chapter has sexual content between a character who is in heat and a character who isn't, mentions of past abuse, mention of/implication of pregnancy, knotting, in-heat sex, and a super awkward sex talk with Abby. If there's anything I've missed that you think I should include I happily will. Message me on [tumblr](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com) if you need to ask anything.
> 
> And to make this even longer, I understand how difficult and serious a situation like this would be for Andrew, considering his past and what consent means to him. I did what I could, thought about it and wrote from both sides, and this is what it came to. But if this isn't your thing, if you don't agree with anything I've written above, I won't be offended if you click away from this page. Thanks and happy reading ♥

The couch cushion won’t come off, stuck like glue to the velcro attachment.

Neil grunts a little as he tries to maneuver it. It’s one singular couch cushion instead of two, so it’s taller than Neil’s entire body, but that doesn’t deter him. He pulls and pulls until he has it upright, but it’s too big to get his arms around and falls back over in an even more awkward position. Neil groans and tries again.

He sees Wymack walking by from the corner of his eye, sees Wymack pass by the lounge, and then sees Wymack slowly walk backwards back into the lounge.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?” Wymack asks casually, taking a sip from his cup of coffee.

Neil flicks him an annoyed look and says, “I’m taking it.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“I want it in my room.”

“Think the couch cushion might be better left on the couch.”

Neil shrugs that off. “Maybe.” He doesn’t grace Wymack with any more attention and focuses on hauling the cushion into a standing position.

“Alright, well you have fun with that,” Wymack sighs into his coffee, then leaves the room.

After another battle or two with getting the cushion into a comfortable carrying position, Neil’s finally able to get it up the stairs and into his room. He’s sweating by time he’s got it through his door, but instant contentment settles into his chest at having that scent and comfort so close.

Only for that contentment to fade as quick as a breath.

And he hates this.

He hates not knowing why his body is making him do these things. Why there’s a voice that isn’t his telling him what to do. Everything feels good and right when he listens to the voice, but he wishes he knew _why_ it was even there.

He wishes he knew why this satisfied feeling hasn’t been sticking around lately. It’s there and then gone. As settled as Neil felt seconds earlier, now he feels anxious and jittery and oddly hot, then oddly cold.

What feels good one moment feels awful the next.

Neil looks around his room and tries to figure out what could possibly be missing. He’s already taken three more of Andrew’s sweaters. He even tried to take his blanket before Andrew caught him - only for Andrew to show up later that night with his blanket bunched up in his arms for Neil.

None of it is enough. He lays face down in his nest of blankets, sweaters, and his singular couch cushion and sighs. Then he feels hot again. Hot right through his core.

He ventures down into the kitchen for a glass of water, but three sips in and he suddenly feels exhausted. His eyes are heavy and his muscles feel weak all over, so he takes a seat at the kitchen island and curls up into his arms.

A gentle voice is there to wake him some time later. “Neil? Neil, it’s Renee. Are you alright?”

Neil lifts his head and grumbles a little at the stiffness in his neck. He blinks at his surroundings and takes in Renee, standing across the island from him. “What?”

“You’re in the kitchen, Neil. Did you mean to fall asleep?”

“No . . .” Neil looks around and then at his cup of water, not remembering in the slightest how he got down here. “I got tired and . . . it’s really hot in here.”

Fire rips through his body and builds up between his temples. He aches for water but he can’t manage enough strength to grab the cup.

“May I touch you, Neil?” Renee asks, gesturing to Neil’s forehead. Neil nods, so she presses the back of her hand to his skin and frowns. “You’re ice cold.”

Neil feels startled, more awake now, because he isn’t cold - but then Renee is wrapping her scarf around his shoulders, and though the smell is nauseating, Neil is suddenly freezing. So he curls up into it.

“Does Andrew know that you’re ill?”

“I’m not ill,” Neil protests, right as his teeth begin to chatter.

“Okay,” is all she says, with a slight hum. Renee looks at him for a long moment and then smiles gently at him. “Here, let me help you back to your room.”

Neil nearly protests that too, but he’s shakier than he realized once he gets to his feet. He nearly falls over, but Renee is there to loop an arm around his waist. She’s as strong as Andrew, if a bit stronger. Something in Neil feels settled by that, while something in Neil wishes it were Andrew instead.

Renee gets him upstairs and helps him with the lock on his door. Her eyes survey the room as she helps Neil into his bed. She smiles in that Renee way of hers that Neil will never understand and says, “If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.”

Neil nods weakly, then falls asleep again.

-

He feels betrayed, if he’s being honest.

He told Renee that he wasn’t ill, and yet here he is, in Abby’s office.

She found him during breakfast and scheduled an appointment for him right after. Somebody must have said something to Andrew, because as soon as Andrew realized Neil wasn’t at his appointment, he dragged him to the wellness ward and left him there.

So here he is.

“Why am I here?” Neil asks, his arms crossed and every hair on his body raised.

“Well Neil, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been feeling a little . . .”

“I’m not sick. What did Renee say to you?”

“You’re right, you’re not sick,” Abby says and smiles. “I wanted to have this discussion with you earlier, but I wasn’t sure how developed your knowledge on your status was.”

“What do you mean?” Neil curls up a little more on the examination table, trying to shut himself off from her.

“Neil, you are an omega, as we’ve discussed, but you’ve been using suppressants to portray yourself as a beta. That led me to believe that perhaps your perception on your nature has been a bit skewed. Would you like to tell me what you know about omega heats?”

An immediate stillness takes over Neil’s body. “No,” he says quickly, and he goes to sit up and slip away from the table but Abby holds her hand out to him.

“You aren’t in any trouble, Neil. I’m here to help you, so please, let’s talk about this.”

Neil stays on the table, but backs himself up against the wall and pulls his legs to his chest. “I can’t.”

Because he honestly can’t, because he honestly never has been able to before. He’ll never forget that first heat. It happened their second year on the run. He wondered what was the point in running from a murderer when his mother was just as violent.

There were hands in his hair, hands around his neck, hands making him shut up, hands making him _stop_. If he so much as whimpered his mother would be there to smack it out of him. When Neil could no longer hold onto his control, his mother’s solution was a room with a locked door, deep in some basement somewhere. In a shed. In a tiny closet with nothing but her body to barricade the door.

He remembers aching loneliness and he remembers aching emptiness.

How badly he suffered because something was wrong with him, something was eating him alive and it was never satiated. But nothing could be wrong with him because he had to be a beta, not an omega.

Weeks of not seeing another living soul as pain pulled apart his body. All he needed was someone to guide him and care for him and tell him it would be okay, but his mother was all he had and she _wouldn’t_.

So no, he can’t talk about it.

He shakes his head and puts his forehead to his knees. “I want Andrew.”

“Alright, we’ll get him for you,” Abby says kindly. “But I really believe we need to talk now, Neil. David mentioned the incident with the couch, and Renee has brought my attention to your sudden hot and cold flashes. It sounds to me as though you’ll be going into heat soon, and with your relationship with Andrew as it is, it’s important that you understand what will be happening to you.”

She points to her own neck, in the same spot where Neil’s bite mark is on his.

Neil doesn’t want to be here anymore. He looks at the door and ignores the trembles pulling through his body, and while he remembers the pain of every heat prior, he remembers even more the pain on Andrew’s face that day in the room with the broken glass on the floor. Like he didn’t understand either.

Neil wanted everything in a way he never has before, but he didn’t know what was happening or why. Just that it had to. He wonders if knowing more would also help Andrew more.

He lets out a shaky breath and says, “Okay.”

Abby smiles warmly. “Alright, well let’s start from the beginning. Can you tell me when your last heat was?”

It was his first one without his mother. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t run from it when it was a living monster inside of him. With nowhere safe to go and no one to protect him, Neil barricaded himself inside of a shady hotel room on the top floor and prayed that nobody would be able to sense him way up there. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and in his bag and it was excruciating. It was torture. It was full of fear.

“Last year. I was alone.”

“And what do you know about your heats?”

Neil shrugs. “That I shouldn’t have them.”

Abby frowns a bit. “Why is that?”

“Because.” He hears his father’s words then, always fresh and forever in his mind. _Good for nothing omega. No other purpose than spreading your legs. A shame to the family._ He hears his mother’s words. _You are your own biggest weakness, Abram, and you will never make it on your own._ “It makes me easy prey.”

“Do you understand what they’re intended for?”

Neil shakes his head again, but it’s a lie, because he does.

It’s why his mother took him and ran. An omega in the Wesninski family was a burden, and the only way to lessen it was to sell it. Neil will never forget the dinner in West Virginia, seated at a table full of men in suits who looked at him as if he were the main course. His father spoke about business deals and arrangements with the Moriyama’s, and as hands were exchanged, a boy not much older than Neil smiled at him like Neil was a new toy to break.

He was too young to understand then, but he gets it now. His heats are for the full use of an alpha to do what they please with.

“A heat is required for the production of offspring. Your body will go through changes in order to accomodate said offspring, and to attract suitable alphas.”

Neil fidgets a little, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of changes?”

“Your hot and cold flashes, and your new found need to nest would be prime examples. You’ll perhaps feel more aroused when near an alpha you feel bonded with. You may even wish to submit to them more so than usual.”

“When I went through them before -” Neil looks away and closes his eyes. “It hurt.”

He can sense Abby’s genuine sadness then, and he can sense her immediate hesitation right after. “Neil, that’s because . . .” She sighs and reaches over to her desk for a pamphlet. “This will go over more details that you may not want to hear from me, but I will go over the basics. When in heat, you will need to be, um.” Abby coughs a little, then recovers with a smile. “Penetrated and knotted, in order for your body to believe it’s being impregnated.”

Neil nearly passes out. He stares at Abby with wide eyes and feels horror flame across his face. No wonder his mother never answered that question. “Oh. I don’t. I don’t want . . . what do I do?”

He feels a low stirring in his belly at the thought of it being Andrew, of Andrew doing that to him. Of actually turning onto his knees for him and bowing his head and allowing it.

But Andrew . . .

He feels betrayed again. His mother never explained any of this to him. It was never spoken about. It was never to happen.

“You have several options, Neil, don’t worry. The first option will feel the most natural to your body, but that doesn’t mean you have to choose it. You can experience your heat with Andrew, and he will take care of you. If this is what you’d like to do, we can arrange another appointment to go over this with Andrew, and see what he would like as well.”

All of Neil lights up with his answer - _yes_ \- but reality sets in almost as quick as his relief had. This is the same world that his father exists in, and as long as he does, Neil will forever be a wanted criminal. Choosing Andrew would be putting Andrew in direct line of that war path.

Neil has to keep Andrew’s name out of his mouth. He swallows roughly and tries to form words that he doesn’t want to say.

“. . . what’re the other options?”

“Here in the wellness ward, we have safety rooms. They block you off from the rest of the shelter, and only a permitted nurse will be allowed to enter to take care of your basic needs, such as food, water and medicine. You’ll experience your heat alone, but with any tools you deem necessary.”

Neil grimaces, not liking the idea of a stranger being in his room while his insides tear themselves apart. And he can’t be trapped again. He can’t be alone. He shakes his head in disagreement and says, “No, I don’t want that.”

“Would you like me to arrange an appointment with Andrew?”

“ _No_ ,” Neil nearly shouts.

Abby’s patience never wanes. She smiles and asks, “Then what would you like to do, Neil?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“That’s a very valid decision,” she says, then indicates towards the pamphlet again. “Is there anything else about this process that you’d like to talk to me about?”

Neil frowns and starts to fidget again. Now that he has the opportunity to talk about it, he isn’t sure what to say. He pulls at the sleeves of his sweater - or, well, Andrew’s sweater - and stares down at his lap.

“. . . sometimes when I think about Andrew, or whenever Andrew is touching me . . . I don’t know. I’ve never . .” He trails off and huddles in closer around himself. “I’ve never wanted anyone before. Not like instinctually or - like this. It’s never happened before. I understand it in the moment, but then I don’t after. But I get . . .” He takes a deep breath in and shuts his eyes. “Wet. Like . . . around my . . ass.”

He’s quick to hide himself away from Abby, shame and heat twisting him apart.

To his surprise though, Abby doesn’t flinch or recoil or act at all shocked. “It’s your body’s natural response to arousal. Nothing to be ashamed about. You’re preparing yourself for penetrative sex, and in this case, it sounds as if you’re only seeking this out from Andrew.”

Neil nods, the shame seeping away slightly. Then he asks the question he was afraid of, whispering it into his arms.

“I don’t understand then. Do I want Andrew, or does my body?”

Abby smiles at him. “Well, you’ve mentioned never wanting anyone before. What’s different about Andrew?”

Neil shrugs. “Everything,” he says, and then smiles to himself a little. “Everything.”

“Then I think you’ve answered your own question,” Abby says, and stands to offer Neil a hand off the table. “Now, please read over the pamphlets, and come to me if you have any questions. If you choose to pursue your heat in the wellness ward, you are more than welcome to.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says, and feels slightly lightheaded from all this embarrassment. He allows Abby to help him to his feet.

“Do you still want me to find Andrew for you?”

Neil gives his head a shake. “No, I just need to think.”

Abby offers him another reassuring smile and walks him out.

-

Neil curls up miserable in his bed, kind of wishing he were actually sick instead.

Abby said he had multiple options, but right now it only feels like one; run. As far away as he can, as fast as possible, before this impossible heat sets in.

It never felt like this before. In the past it had hurt, it had bled, it had ached, and he would instinctively want to seek out warmth and comfort, but to Neil, it was the same as dealing with an illness. He knew that when his bones began to feel sore and his body felt hot and then cold that he was about to be critically ‘sick’ for a week. The inner emptiness that he feels now is the same as then - with one massive difference.

He never had the desire to have it filled before. He does now.

Neil curls himself up tighter and buries his face in Andrew’s pillow. He can’t remember taking it, but somehow it’s ended up in his bed.

Andrew bit him. Marked him. He put his teeth in Neil’s skin and sucked until pale turned purple. It felt like a promise - to keep and to stay. Even now, brushing his fingers over the tender mark makes Neil feel instant contentment, but . . .

But it’s not fair, not to Andrew. Neil is a boy with a target on his back, with his father not far behind. He will be found one day, and if he’s found with Andrew, then Andrew will be eliminated.

His heats are for the full use of an alpha - the highest buyer. And Neil has a feeling Andrew will not be able to pay his father’s fee.

Besides, Neil was there that day in the broken glass bedroom. He saw Andrew’s face and he scented Andrew’s fear and he knows disgust and distrust when he feels it. Andrew hadn’t wanted him then, so why would he want him now?

Neil will not ask, because if he does, then Andrew will have to answer, and Neil knows he won’t be able to handle either.

He thinks all of this one moment, understands it and accepts it, but the moment passes and he’s back inside his tormented world of want want - _need_.

A knock on the door cuts through the hazy wave of Neil’s mind, but he doesn’t even begin to register it until there’s a second knock. Andrew’s voice calling through the door has Neil’s every nerve lighting up, his pain receding, but he does not answer him, because he cannot ask of him.

“Neil. Open the door.”

Such an order has Neil rolling over the slightest bit. A pitiful whine escapes his lips as he keeps himself locked and contained on the bed.

No. He will not ask for what he can’t have.

Andrew knocks once more, and when Neil stays buried in his bed, the scent of disappointment and something else, something darker, slips through the crack under the door.

Andrew walks away. Neil continues to suffer.

-

He knows what’s happening.

He’s seen it before, many times. He’s smelled it before, many times.

But he’s never felt anything like this before because of it.

There’s something lurking in his chest, demanding that he go upstairs and stay outside of Neil’s room until Neil’s able to fend for himself again.

Demanding that he stays close to him. Demanding that he protects. Demanding that he wants.

And fuck everything, Andrew _wants_.

He’s never wanted so much before.

Which is dangerous, like many things, because wanting in a world where you can’t have anything means never keeping anything.

He knew that even before Kevin told him to let go. He knew that even when he was hurtling Kevin into the nearest wall, because he just didn’t want Kevin to be right about this. About him.

And Neil did leave. He ran.

But he came back when Andrew asked him to, and Andrew . . .

Isn’t sure he deserves that.

For one, Neil won’t open his fucking bedroom door. Fine, steal all of Andrew’s blankets, pillows and sweaters, but God forbid, he won’t open a door.

But Andrew knows what’s happening. Even if he couldn’t smell Neil, he can detect the scent of heat. So he knows what’s happening, and he knows why Neil won’t open the door.

He doesn’t trust Andrew.

He doesn’t want Andrew.

Which is a fair feeling to feel. Andrew doesn’t even trust himself. How could he blame Neil?

He sighs and crushes the end of his cigarette into the concrete step below him, then lights another one. Anything to replace the scent of Neil and his despair and desperation.

Andrew knows control. He’s mastered it. Before he could even spell his name he knew how to rein himself in; not allowing anything in or out. In a world where somebody can come along and smell your every emotion, thought and weakness, Andrew had to lock it up. Every instinct, every action, every natural decision had to go into a vault, only to come out when _he_ deemed it fit.

Now everything is bursting up against the door in a way it never has before, and try as he might, Andrew cannot control _this_.

His body said bite, so he bit. His body said keep, so he kept.

Everything about Neil makes Andrew feel feral and wild and ferocious, because the lock doesn’t exist. He is all animal when it comes to Neil and this want.

He tried to ignore it if he couldn’t lock it up, but Neil kept coming to him, kept asking for him, kept allowing Andrew in.

He tried to get rid of this feeling on his own with his hand, with Neil’s awful and addictive scent everywhere, only for Neil to end up in his bed, with his trust and his equal want for Andrew.

Then Neil was there, with his radiating scent and his body on fire and his own heart racing because of Andrew’s racing heart, and he was there. Right after Kevin told Andrew that he wouldn’t be.

He was there, and he hadn’t faded yet, and Andrew snapped.

And Andrew was as bad as them. It didn’t matter that it felt good for the both of them. Neither knew what they were doing or even why - the entire time Andrew was aware that they should stop, but since Neil didn’t ask Andrew couldn’t bring himself to. They had to, because it had felt like an immediate and carnal _want_ asked them to.

But what good is want in a world ruled by instincts?

It is instinct for Andrew to seek out a mate of a lower status. It is instinct for Neil to seek out someone higher. That’s what it had to be. That’s what it was.

He should have stopped, but he didn’t, and he broke his own rule and so he broke Neil. Now Neil’s upstairs behind a locked door with Andrew on the other side of it, and he deserves it, and he shouldn’t even continue to want him.

But it’s not the heat that Andrew seeks. Nor is it the implication; the instinctual urge of mating. It’s just - Neil.

Or else Andrew would have torn down his own door much earlier, with someone else, isn’t that right?

It’s Neil and no one else is Neil.

And Andrew cannot handle the thought of anyone else touching Neil.

But it is his own fault. He should have let him run.

He snaps his cigarette in half and growls at it, the sky, himself, and has half the mind to throw the entire pack out into the yard when someone says from behind, “Andrew.”

Andrew freezes at Kevin’s voice, then decides he needs another cigarette right away. He places one between his lips and looks up at Kevin. He looks afraid.

“Can we talk?” Kevin asks, his head bowed slightly.

“You can talk, I might listen,” Andrew says breezily, turning his gaze back out into the yard. “Depends on what you decide to say.”

Kevin sits a few feet away from Andrew on the steps. “I want to apologize.”

Andrew’s nose wrinkles. “Times up. You’ve striked out.”

“Andrew.”

“Allow me to make an educated guess as to what is prompting this; you know Neil is going into heat, and you don’t want me to run off with him into the night. Ah, save yourself the hassle, Kevin.”

Kevin stares at Andrew with a frown and wide eyes. “Neil’s going into - what are you going to do?”

Andrew says around his cigarette, “You ask that as if it’s up to me.”

Kevin’s frown deepens. “Well, isn’t it?”

Andrew stares back at Kevin for a long time, mulling over the consequences of hitting him again. He’s able to work over the urge eventually. “If that’s not why you’re here bothering me, then this better be good.”

He can’t sense Kevin as well as he can Neil; alphas aren’t keen with smell, not like omegas. But Andrew can read body language, so he can read what Kevin’s feeling by how he’s twisting up his hands and looking at anywhere else but Andrew.

“Neil ran away because of my actions. I told him to run. It wasn’t his decision.”

Ah, well, that Andrew had a feeling about. He blows smoke in Kevin’s direction and shrugs. “I know.”

“I didn’t know for sure if he would listen to me or not. The child won’t even eat a vegetable when I tell him to, how was I supposed to know -” Kevin digs his hands through his hair and sighs. “I had to see if you would follow him.”

Cowardice from Kevin is no stranger, but a lack of trust is. Andrew manages a frown of his own, then taps some ash off his cigarette. “No faith in me, Kevin? You know I don’t make promises for no reason.”

“But you hadn’t even made a promise with him, and yet you acted as if you’d turn the world upside down for him. I had to know.”

“Hm.” That makes sense, even if the situation doesn’t. If Neil had gone any further, if he had run past the point of no return, Andrew would have been right behind him. And no promise would exempt that. “Now you do. If you try to send him away again, our deal is over.”

Kevin drops his chin to his chest and sighs. “I understand.”

“Goodbye then.”

Kevin stands, but pauses in the doorway behind Andrew. “I hope you realize how much danger you’ve put yourself in. If the people looking for him find him with that mark on his neck, it will be a problem.”

Andrew waves his hand dismissively. “Their problem, not mine.”

Kevin is silent for a moment, before he asks, “But isn’t he yours?”

Andrew’s face suddenly twitches. He jerks around to look up at Kevin, but Kevin is gone.

A low growl rumbles through his throat, annoyed and unsettled. He finishes his smoke before tossing the butt out into the yard, then stays outside in the cool air until his body stops feeling so hot.

He hates Kevin, but he hates Kevin even more when he’s right.

-

He had continued to chain smoke outside until it physically hurt his lungs to breathe, and then he had stayed outside until the scent of air and grass stained his senses. It still wasn’t enough to replace the scent of Neil.

Neil is like a scar, cut into Andrew’s insides. Nobody else can see it, but Andrew will forever feel it.

Once the cold settles in, he finally stands up and makes his way inside, only to be hit by a wall of panic. It’s a mix of people, alpha, beta and omega, all in one. Andrew’s sense of smell isn’t strong, but like always, he’s able to identify Neil in the chaos immediately.

Andrew doesn’t even realize he’s running until he smashes into Nicky’s back at full impact. Nicky goes crashing into the kitchen entrance, while Andrew doesn’t allow the blow to hinder him; he keeps running until he’s in the kitchen and between his omega and the intruding alpha.

Kevin is here too, oddly enough. He’s yelling. Many people are yelling. Andrew thinks he himself might be yelling. He can’t hear anything except for Neil’s pulse.

Andrew steps in front of Neil and braces himself like a shield. He’s torn between staring down Seth or looking at Neil. His problem is solved quickly, when Neil whimpers pitifully, and nothing in Andrew can ignore it. He turns around to face him and crowds into his space to pin him safely against the counter. No one else can get to Neil like this.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and when Neil opens his mouth to answer, he cuts in with, “Not you. The pathetic excuse for an alpha. Gordon.”

Seth’s anger rises from behind Andrew, but he pays no mind to it. Not when Neil is shaking this bad. “Fuck you, freak!” Seth shouts, and Andrew can hear struggle, can sense Seth fighting to get forward and somebody holding him back. “What did you expect me to do? You let him walk around all alone like that. He wanted my help!”

Neil’s trembling only increases until he nearly collapses to the ground. Andrew growls and forces his grip tighter around Neil’s arms.

“I didn’t -” Neil yelps, his voice not sounding how he usually sounds. “Not him. Not him. Not - just you.”

Andrew responds to that by pulling Neil’s face towards his neck. Neil’s shaking comes to a near halt. “Kevin, Nicky, get him out of here.”

There’s more yelling and curses. Andrew thinks he can even sense the drawing of blood. He’ll deal with Gordon later. Right now, he is the last thing on Andrew’s mind.

Because Neil is still chanting _just you_ in his odd, weak voice, right against the skin of Andrew’s throat. Andrew hasn’t the patience to sort out such foolish words, so he snarls and grabs at the back of Neil’s neck, hauling him out of the kitchen like an animal being reprimanded.

All the way upstairs, into Neil’s room, where Andrew throws the door open and throws Neil inside and slams the door closed behind them. Neil’s mouth instantly drops open as a chorus of, “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry -“ falls out.

Andrew crosses his arms and stares at him, waiting for his energy to fade away.

“Why did you leave your room?” he asks in an even tone of voice.

“To find -” Neil shuts his mouth and looks at the floor. “Had to find you.”

Which could possibly be a groundbreaking sentence, maybe, if Neil weren’t currently in hysterics, and if his body weren’t about to shatter from his shivers.

Andrew sighs, then grabs at Neil’s shoulder and pulls him to the ground. He kneels in front of Neil, allowing his hands to travel along Neil’s arms, his shoulders, up through his hair. Neil is hot to the touch.

He presses his fingers to the mark he had left behind and feels something in his chest combust. Rather than focus on his own pounding heart, his own rushing blood, he stays still in order to keep Neil still. They stay like that, Neil with his eyes on the ground and Andrew with his hand around Neil’s neck, until Neil’s heart calms down a bit.

Once they’re both breathing quietly, Andrew taps at Neil’s chin until he looks up, and says, “Give me the key to your door.”

Neil’s eyes widen slightly. “Wh-what? Why?”

“Because I am going to lock you inside.”

“Andrew.” Neil pulls away from Andrew’s touch and shakes his head. “No. No.”

“I cannot have this happening again.”

“It won’t -”

“I have to make sure.”

“I don’t need a guard dog,” Neil sneers, his gaze sharpening into a fine weapon. “I just need -”

“As if I’m going to let just anyone waltz in here and take what’s mine. Think higher of me, Neil,” Andrew says, and rubs two finger tips over the bite mark on Neil’s neck. “You’re safer this way.”

Neil settles slightly under Andrew’s touch, and slowly turns to look at the door. “I want . . .” he trails off, then digs into his pants pocket. He eventually finds his key and holds it out for Andrew.

Then he smiles, and it’s the worst thing, because Andrew cannot figure out such a smile.

“Only you.”

Andrew folds the key up in his hand and nods, even if he doesn’t understand - it sounds like a question in the same way that it sounds like an answer.

“Only me,” he agrees, and pockets the key.

Neil gives Andrew one more soft, confusing smile before tilting his forehead to Andrew’s shoulder. His fighting form finally gives out, becoming a soft, pliant creature. His temperature is too high, his scent is overpowering, his body brings out things in Andrew that he had tried so hard to keep closed.

He keeps them closed for a few seconds longer. Just enough time to get Neil into bed. To press his fingers to the mark again. To close his lips around it and think, and remember, and to hope.

In a world where Andrew can’t keep anything, maybe it really can be . . .

_Only me._

-

He sits against the wall next to Neil’s door. He had to shove a towel against the crack underneath it, because the scent was beginning to cross the border of _too fucking much._ Even with the barricade, Neil’s heat floods the hall. The house. The world.

Andrew groans and thumps his head back against the wall. He’s not sure what’s more irritating; being this affected by Neil, or losing his self-control because he is this affected by Neil. He can usually keep his composure because there’s never anything threatening enough to make him completely lose it. He can handle anything.

This, he cannot. But he has to.

There’s a heavy feeling low in his belly, heat at the base of his spine. He feels constantly ready - ready to fight, ready to bite, ready to latch onto something and _mate_ \- and it’s pathetic. A lifetime of ignoring and repressing his urges and now those urges are controlling him.

It’s better for Neil to be locked up, but Andrew spends hours staring at the key in his palm, thinking, wondering . . . _what the fuck did he mean? Only me?_

Whatever he had been saying, or trying to say, it couldn’t have been permission. No. Permission requires words and conscious consent, and Neil was far beyond using his voice and using his mind.

Andrew folds the key up in his hand and continues to watch over the hall. Nicky had tried to come up earlier to see if Neil was alright, and nearly lost his throat in the process. Renee had come up shortly after, which Andrew only tolerated because he knows Renee has as much interest in Neil as Andrew has in Allison.

She had preached some bullshit about being ‘brave’ and ‘strong’ and everything Andrew clearly isn’t. He hadn’t responded. If he were strong then this wouldn’t be the hardest task of his life, staying still and silent.

Hours pass. He can hear faint whimpering, soft whining, a moan, two moans, his own fucking name -

He clenches his jaw down so hard he hears something crack. There’s blood on his bottom lip. He must have bitten himself.

Pretending it was Neil.

“Andrew,” a soft voice says, a voice that is specifically and clearly not Neil’s. Andrew hadn’t even sensed their approach; he jolts upwards into a standing position and nearly shoves the offender away, only to see Abby standing a few feet back, her arms held up placadingly.

“Go away,” he snarls, hands curling into fists.

“I only came up here to see if Neil needed anything,” she says calmly, and indicates towards some sort of medical bag slung over her shoulder. “And to check on you. It’s nearly midnight, Andrew. You need to eat something, and maybe get some sleep.”

“I said _go away_.”

Abby doesn’t even blink. How a beta could be so fearless is beyond Andrew.

“You’re no good to Neil if you’re malnourished and exhausted. Take a break. Neil will be here when you get back.”

Andrew snarls, and slowly shakes his head. It’s the kind of situation which does not call for words.

Except Abby doesn’t back down, so maybe words are required. “He gave the key to me,” he says, and realizes quite quickly that it wouldn’t make any sense to Abby. “He doesn’t need you.”

“You’re exactly right,” Abby says, and her smile is implication of judgement. “He needs you, but since you do not wish to help him, something has to be done to stop Neil’s suffering.”

Andrew growls, and hates that those words hurt. The name _Neil_ and the word _suffering_ do not belong together, yet they continue to be said in the same sentence. He would argue, but she’s so wrongly right.

“Fine,” he snarls, and pulls the key out. His hands are shaking. “Hurt him, and I will deepen your own understanding of pain. You have five minutes.”

Before he does something idiotic, more idiotic than giving Neil’s key away, he drops the key to the floor and storms down the hall. To smoke. To break something. To tear at his lip because he needs to bite something, because he wants to bite Neil.

He goes into the kitchen and stares at the clock above the sink until five exact minutes have passed. To his surprise, Abby is already outside of Neil’s door when he returns. She says nothing at first, offering a sad smile.

“It’s a shame,” she eventually says, handing back the key. “I’ve never seen such compatibility before.”

Andrew huffs, snatching the key and tucking it safely away. “Why is it a shame?”

She smiles that sad smile again and says, “That you both continue to deny it. But it’s really not my place to comment on it. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be back in the morning to check on him again, if that’s alright with you.”

Abby doesn’t wait for an answer and leaves him alone in the hall. Andrew doesn’t watch her leave, and instead sits closer to the door. Listening. Searching. Wondering.

Wanting.

-

The wood is flat and cold underneath his palm.

Andrew either has it there to keep himself steady, or to be as close as possible to Neil.

Perhaps both.

This is a physical pain he wasn’t aware he could experience, and so, he could not prepare himself for it. Andrew understands pain on a level he wouldn’t dare wish on anyone else. He also understands how to cope with it. How to ignore it. How to continue on with it following his every step.

Now though, with his hand against the door and his heart beating out races in his chest, he isn’t sure how to manage all of that. Every time he breathes it feels as though his lungs are ripping. Each blink feels like rubbing glass particles into his eyes. Every time he tries to move away, it’s like breaking bones.

He understands pain just fine, but this sort of feels like the act of dying, and Andrew still needs to live out the rest of the week in one piece.

So he stays completely still, or as still as he can, and even though it drives him mad, he continues to breathe in Neil’s scent.

It’s a sign that Neil is alive, that he’s still there, that no one else has touched him.

It’s impossible to be far, but it’s impossible to be close.

It’s a fucking crime that what hurts you the most is what comforts you.

Andrew takes in a few ragged breaths, far past the point of feeling shame and irritation at the situation. He doesn’t care at all about how he feels. Neil is hurting, and Andrew is powerless on the other side of a locked door. Neil is hurting, and will continue to hurt as long as the door stays locked.

But it fucking has _to_. Andrew growls, digging his nails deep into the wood.

He doesn’t want to hurt, he doesn’t want to take. He wants to give, and make it all be okay. There’s a mark on Neil’s neck that _he_ put there, and he can feel it from here, like being tethered.

Neil’s pain is his pain and he knows he’s the solution.

His body and his status make up the solution.

But like many things, it’s insubstantial. Andrew needs a vocal and absolute _yes_ , and there is a difference between Neil’s body and Neil’s mind making that decision.

This is all he can do; stay here kneeling on the floor outside of Neil’s door, tearing himself apart again and again because he has to be close, but it’s killing him to be here.

Not because he can’t control himself from having Neil, but because he can’t stand Neil’s suffering for much longer. It may be Andrew’s instinct to make it better, but it’s Andrew’s connection to Neil that makes him want to protect.

And fuck evolution for making him the protection against his own weapon.

“Andrew, it’s Renee.” She’s quiet, but she doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. Renee stands at the end of the hall, taking cautious steps closer to Andrew. “I can sense your distress from outside.”

Andrew doesn’t look at her. He keeps his eyes on the lines engraved in the wood of the door. He keeps all of his focus on Neil.

“You’re hurting, Andrew,” Renee says, and kneels on the floor next to him. Her scent near Neil’s proximity has Andrew growling, despite knowing she won’t do anything.

He can’t form the words to tell her to go away, so he shuts his eyes and digs his claws into the door.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

He snaps without thinking it through; “I won’t do this to him.”

Renee’s demeanour radiates calm, but it does nothing to put out the embers in Andrew’s heart. “He’d want it to be you,” she says softly. “I can sense it, and I know you can, too.”

Andrew’s growl is louder this time, reverberating off every wall. From inside Neil’s room, he thinks he can hear a faint whimper.

His nails dig into the wood so hard it splinters.

“Unimportant. He needs - to say it - and -” It feels as though he’s choking, it’s all too powerful. “- and mean it.”

Renee cocks her head to the side, and her quiet voice sounds like a broken instrument right now.

“But hasn’t he?”

Andrew hasn’t even the strength to growl again. He sits there and begins to shake, so violently the door makes a noise under his hand. “No - if he wants anything from me, it’s - my body. He’s - in heat. It doesn’t matter. He can’t th-think.”

He’s shivering now, suddenly so cold. His voice feels and sounds muffled, underwater. He has to gulp his words out.

Another sad, pitying smile is his reward for dying. Renee nods, but he can tell she doesn’t agree.

“He’s hurting, too,” she eventually says, and places her hand over the door as well.

Andrew can only shudder out his breath and close his eyes.

But then suddenly he has Neil’s key in his hand, and he doesn’t remember pulling it out of his pocket, but it’s there, and then suddenly it’s in Renee’s hand, and suddenly Andrew is saying, “Take this. Don’t ever use it.”

“Andrew -”

“Hide it. From m-me. From - everyone.”

“Andrew, I don’t believe -”

“ _Now_ ,” he snarls, and bangs his hand against the door. Renee nods again, then quickly leaves, taking the key with her.

He will not do this to him. He will not do this to himself.

Even if Neil did want him . . .

Want, wanted and wanting are no good in a world run by instinct.

-

When he wakes up, his temples are damp with sweat and the covers have been tossed off the bed. He looks around and tries to orient himself, but nothing makes sense.

First he realizes that he is in his bedroom and that the door is locked. He’s still wearing the clothes he had on from hours earlier, but the air isn’t the same as it was before. He breathes in, trying to place what’s wrong about it - only to quickly realize what’s _missing_ from it.

Neil.

Neil isn’t here.

Neil isn’t close by.

Neil isn’t here Neil isn’t here Neil isn’t -

He jumps out of bed and stumbles slightly on his feet, feeling lightheaded despite the heavy thoughts crashing through his mind. Neil isn’t here, and Andrew can’t remember what possessed him to ever leave him.

He needed air, he knows that. He nearly took down Neil’s door with his fist. He had to step away, just for a bit, just to regain control of himself. He must have blacked out. His body must have shut down in order to stop himself from breaking out.

But now he’s too distant from Neil and his scent. He starts to take in deep lungfuls of air, trying to place Neil, trying to find him. Once he works past his own panic, he senses distress.

It’s a familiar fear. Neil used to reek with it.

It was the red flag that gave Neil away when he first stepped through the front doors. He was running from something, and Andrew didn’t need to smell it to know it. Now though, like many times before - at the mall, in the backyard, on the staircase, in his own bed - Andrew can sense it like blood.

He doesn’t bother to see if his bedroom door closes behind him and bolts down the hall towards Neil’s room. Even though he gets there in seconds, it does not feel fast enough.

He digs through his pockets for the key, needs the key, the key is permission, the key is his -

Then he realizes he no longer has the key.

Instinct reacts for him; his hand comes up to pound against the door as his throat churns out burning words. “Neil. I need you to open the door.”

His fist comes up to hit the door again when it suddenly opens out from under him. He stumbles in without a second thought, latching onto Neil’s arm and dragging him deeper into the room as the door slams behind them. Then it’s just them and their two types of panic coating the air.

Andrew doesn’t touch Neil for long. His skin is too warm, even through his sweater and - fuck. Neil isn’t wearing his own sweater.

He’s wearing Andrew’s.

A low growl pushes up Andrew’s throat as he keeps his hands hovering above Neil’s shoulders. It hurts not to hold him.

Besides the sweater, Neil isn’t wearing much else. Boxer briefs are slung low around his hips, while his running shoes remain unlaced on the floor beside the bed. On the bed sits Neil’s duffel bag, open and halfway packed.

Trembling, Neil steps into Andrew’s line of sight. His auburn hair is matted and damp against his forehead, his blue eyes wide and looking so far away, yet somehow so focused. “A-Andrew,” he manages after an eternity, and the one word is enough to send his body through a violent shudder. “I’m sorry.”

Not sure what Neil is apologizing for, Andrew ignores it. Neil hasn’t run yet, and he’s not going to, so there is no apology needed.

“You let me in,” Andrew responds almost in question, unsure if he should say anything, if words are sufficient when the language of their scent has filled the room.

Neil’s smile starts out as a frown; slight and small, as if being dug up and discovered. “Y-yeah,” he stammers. “I gave you the key. Wh-why didn’t you use it?”

Idiot.

Andrew nearly scoffs, but for once he thinks he might be an idiot, too.

He ignores Neil instead, again, and focuses on the issue at hand - Neil is about to run away again.

He grabs at Neil and hauls him forward, until he can feel Neil’s rising and falling chest against his. Only because Neil won’t stop shaking. Only because Andrew doesn’t want Neil to make a break for it. Only because . . .

His fingers encircle Neil’s wrists in a mockery of handcuffs, but feels sharpness in his chest at the idea of restraining Neil, so he lets go.

“You thinking of going somewhere?” Andrew asks once his own pulse has settled. He glances over Neil’s shoulder at the duffel bag on the bed.

Neil tenses up, bowing his head low. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Why?”

Neil’s bottom lip quivers. Andrew has to stop from biting on it to get it to stop.

“I-I-” Neil stammers, shaking even harder. “I have to go. I have t-to go _now_.”

“Wrong answer. Try again.”

“Andrew, I mean it,” Neil says more forcefully. He’s already panting for air, like he’s hot, like he’s run himself breathless. “If he finds me here - he’ll find _you_. I can’t - I won’t do that to you.”

“Two more strikes.” Andrew has the ability to look down at Neil like this, with Neil’s posture curved and shivering. He keeps his gaze hard and steady, to be sure to see everything. And everything is what he sees.

It feels like ignoring a fire. He is burning, inside and outside, but he cannot put himself out.

It’s why he won’t grab Neil’s wrists, his hands. He wants it, and not because instinct is telling him he has to have it. He wants it, but even more than that, he wants Neil to want it. To want to stay. To want him.

“You’re reminding me why - why I hate you,” Neil says, though there’s no anger to it. His smile is there and then gone as a wave of heat crashes over him - Andrew can smell it and feel it like he’s drowning in it, too. Neil whimpers, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Andrew, my - my father is going to sell me when - when he finds me. If I’m y-yours then . . . Andrew, let me go.”

“No,” Andrew says and cups Neil’s jaw to drag his face upwards. He moves that same hand to the back of Neil’s neck, gripping him hard. “Tell me what that means. Last strike.”

Neil’s chest is heaving. His gasps for air make up all the sound in the world.

Andrew’s never smelled fear like this before.

Because he’s never felt fear for him before.

Fear _of_ him, sure. But this is not that.

Neil doesn’t look down like Andrew had thought he would; he holds Andrew’s gaze, swallows once, and says so quietly, “If you and I . . . if we . . if you take care of me and make me yours - I can’t. I have to go, because I won’t ask you to do that. Not if it will put your life in - in danger if you say yes.”

Andrew swipes his thumb over the bite mark, feeling Neil’s pulse sync up with his. He is usually strict with his three strike rule - strict as in, most people only get one chance. And even though Neil should be out now, Andrew has one more question.

“Ask me to do what?”

Neil’s body is shaking too hard to be contained by two hands. He gasps out what sounds like a sob and tries to tear away from Andrew, turning to the bed and shoving his belongings into the bag, all the while breathing too hard, too heavy, too fast.

Andrew takes a careful step closer until he’s almost able to lean against Neil’s back. It takes strength he’s never used before to keep himself from pressing Neil’s body into the bed, because - no, he can’t, Neil has to answer his question.

“Neil?”

Neil goes still at Andrew’s proximity, a tiny whimper pushing through his lips.

“I want t-to be yours,” Neil stammers, and something in his spine relaxes. “I know what it means. I want it.” He bows his head and crosses his arms, and Andrew hates that he can’t see his face. “I want - you, but - but if my father . . .”

The hair at the back of Neil’s neck flutters from Andrew’s next breath. He hadn’t realized he had stepped closer, but here he is, his front pressed against Neil’s back. His hands move to where it feels like Neil needs them most; one on his shoulder, one at his waist.

It’s just too coherent a thought to think. There’s just no way.

An omega in heat can’t think for themselves. They want anyone who can help.

Andrew looks over Neil’s shoulder at the duffel bag on the bed, packed full of Neil’s belongings because he was going to run. Not from Andrew, but because he _wanted_ Andrew.

Neil is a puzzle with too many fucking missing pieces, but Andrew isn’t sure he needs them - he can see Neil just fine, like he’s been able to since day one.

“You are going to stay,” Andrew finally says, his voice hot against Neil’s neck. “Because I already told you, I do not enjoy running.”

He doesn’t wait to listen for Neil’s foreseen whimper, his whine of yes, because he was able to hear it as soon as Neil thought it. He leans in and closes his mouth around the mark, finds the familiar indent from his own teeth, and bites down again.

The urgency in his chest clears out, as if it were never there. The panic in the room fades, as if it was never felt. Neil buckles a little under Andrew’s weight, and then he accepts him.

Andrew pushes at Neil’s back until he collapses to the bed. He tries to sit up and push the duffel bag away, but is stopped by Andrew’s sudden growl; he doesn’t want Neil to move any more, anywhere.

Neil whines and lays down again, on his back this time.

“Idiot,” Andrew snarls, just barely, shoving at the duffel bag so it falls to the floor. Once it’s out of his sight he feels a brief relief.

Instinct is inside his mind, speaking in a voice that isn’t his but is, telling him to flip Neil over onto his belly, fill him up, knot him.

But Andrew hasn’t ever been much of a listener.

There’s an exposed strip of skin between Neil’s briefs and where his sweater has risen; Andrew strikes a hand out to touch, sliding his fingers up under the material to curl his palm over Neil’s stomach. Neil whimpers at the touch, though nothing about it sounds pained.

Neil is hot yet cold, his insides scorching while his skin remains balmy and cool on the outside. It’s not until Neil lets out a whimper that Andrew realizes he had begun to stroke Neil’s skin, petting him in a gesture that relays only calm.

“Off,” he orders, attempting to get his control back. “Take this off.”

Neil’s quick to try and obey, but his hands are shaking too hard to comply. Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes before reaching down to tear off the sweater himself. “Idiot,” he says again, with less heat than before. “Running away with my clothes on your back.”

He doesn’t expect a reply, especially not a coherent one, but Neil smiles and looks up at him, and if Neil is supposed to be prey, he doesn’t look at Andrew like he’s the predator.

“Wasn’t running away from you,” Neil says, his words slurring slightly. “For you.”

Since he wasn’t expecting anything, Andrew doesn’t know what to say. He settles for his silence and focuses on the unexplored territory that is Neil’s body, plaint and willing beneath him.

There’s a large scar across Neil’s torso that demands attention, but as soon as Andrew notices that one, he notices them all, and regrets not seeing Neil without a shirt earlier. You need time for this - it’s impossible to understand what you’re seeing when you’ve got to capture it in a blink.

Scars run across his chest, collarbone, hips, all looking lethal. The fact that there’s any unmarred skin left is a miracle.

Neil crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his face towards the wall. Andrew wants to move them out of the way, to see what’s underneath, but it’s not his decision to make. Instead, he leans down and places his hands on Neil’s hips, then presses his lips to the nearest visible scar.

Underneath his lips he can feel it, the ripped and jagged skin. He can feel the pain there, the fear, but even more than that, he can feel the jolt that runs through Neil’s body every time Andrew kisses him there.

Though Andrew isn’t looking, so fixated on these kisses, he can feel Neil’s stare on him. He moves to the next scar, a long slash below Neil’s navel, and traces a finger along the thin line before following it with his tongue and lips.

Neil’s abdomen clenches as his breathing cuts off, his hands coming down to tangle into Andrew’s hair.

Andrew looks up, waiting for Neil to tell him to stop.

What Neil says instead is, “My father . . . he . . . he -”

Andrew had feared that. He presses his fingers in deeper around Neil’s hips, enough to bruise and keep.

“Will have to do a lot worse to me,” Andrew says, leaning down for one more kiss before finishing with, “if he thinks about taking you away.”

Neil makes a strange sound then, like breath being caught and trapped. He keeps his hands in Andrew’s hair and strokes his bangs back, once, twice, pauses, and then all tension leaves his body.

With his chest uncovered, Andrew gets a better view of the scars punctured into skin there. They’re the kind of scars you’d expect to see on someone deceased, someone in an accident, but Neil wears them all as if they hadn’t hurt, hadn’t damaged him, hadn’t made him run.

Since Neil isn’t running anymore, since he won’t be hurt anymore, Andrew promises then to paint over them; bruises from lips won’t last forever, not like these scars, but maybe the memory will.

By time Andrew’s jaw is numb and his mouth feels dry, Neil’s torso is covered in red-pink-blue bruises, all prominent above the violent scars. Neil is shivering still, but not from the cold - and not from his heat.

Andrew licks over his lips, about to deliver one last kiss to Neil’s belly, when those hands in his hair suddenly yank him up. Neil’s strength is what surprises him most; all it takes is one pull and then they’re face to face.

Then they’re lips to lips.

It’s the strangest kiss of Andrew’s life, in that Neil keeps his mouth closed, as if waiting for Andrew to open him.

He realizes then, quite quickly, not without a bolt of horror, that it’s Neil’s first kiss.

Deciding to make sure it’s a good one, Andrew grabs Neil by the jaw and deepens it, until he can finally feel the heat inside of Neil’s body. But even though it’s Andrew’s hands that are in control here, it’s Neil that squirms around until his mouth is a continuous _demand_ for more.

He moves his hands to knead at Andrew’s stomach, as if hoping to find something under his shirt and muscles, and whines against Andrew’s mouth when Andrew slows their kiss down, if only to breathe. Then he starts to tremble, those hands on Andrew’s stomach now pawing at him, to crack him open, to pull him closer.

Desperation stinks, but it’s coming from both of them now.

Andrew thinks of what to say to slow this down, but his body won’t let him say the words. He doesn’t want to use words. He burns with the urge to show and teach, touch and control, take and give.

“Neil,” he manages, but it sounds far from human. Neil doesn’t slow in his pursuit of working Andrew’s shirt up and whines when Andrew bats his hands away. “Neil, listen.”

Neil shakes his head, a pathetic and soft ‘no’ leaving his lips as he whimpers.

Frustration is a relatively new feeling for Andrew. It became prominent like a stitch in his side once Neil moved in. It’s even brighter now, more like a knife. Neil is impossible on a good day, and today he is -

“Neil. Stop.” His words are hard, shots into the air between them, with enough grit that it has his omega going still. With Neil finally looking at him, blue eyes full of trust and need, Andrew takes a breath for the both of them, then guides Neil into a kiss.

It’s a kiss of the slow sort, something Andrew is still new to. He doesn’t kiss to make it last, he kisses to get from point A to point B to point Z, so he doesn’t know why he’s kissing Neil like this then, but he wants to, his body needs him to, and his mind is telling him to.

Andrew encloses his hands around Neil’s throat, tucking his thumb under Neil’s pulse point; it slows down, ever so slightly.

He continues to languidly kiss Neil until Neil stops whining, until his trembling hands find purchase on Andrew’s shoulders. Once calm, both of them, Andrew pulls back enough to say, “I’m going to help you.”

Neil’s shudder is immediate. He nods, mouth working around a word that he doesn’t end up saying.

“Where are your supplies?” Andrew asks, looking around the room for whatever Abby must have brought up for Neil to use. “What did Abby bring you?”

The sudden rigidness to Neil’s shoulders and the snarling of his swollen mouth look anything but intimidating, but still, Andrew waits and listens.

“N-no,” Neil says, shaking his head. “No, Andrew, no -”

Panic overwhelms Andrew’s nose, so vile that it burns. He wants to touch Neil everywhere to lull him back into a calm, but his hand strikes out to where he feels Neil needs him most; low over his belly, to stop him from shivering.

“I’m going to use them on you.”

“ _No_.” Now Neil just sounds sullen as he buries his nose against Andrew’s neck. “I don’t want them.”

“Neil -” But he can’t fight Neil, can’t find it in himself to argue against him. All of his points and defenses seem flat now, useless.

“I already said it,” Neil says, and noses up Andrew’s neck until he can whisper in his ear, “I want it to be you.”

Andrew jerks back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _You_ don’t know how to listen.”

It’s said with enough clarity to clear a fire. It’s said so harshly that Andrew goes still.

They stare at one another, calculating and deciding and breathing, until Neil inches himself up high enough to tip his forehead to Andrew’s. His bangs are damp, his face is hot and flushed, but his words are cool and whispered; “I know what it means. I-I know.”

“It’s not -” There’s no resistance in his body now, his hands stroking wherever they can reach. He finds, as the words die on his tongue, that he has no resistance in his mind, either. “Neil.”

A kiss is pressed to Andrew’s face, nowhere near his mouth. It lands somewhere on his cheek, somewhere near his temple, gentle in a way that unsettles Andrew.

There, Neil says again, “I know.”

Andrew growls; not angry, not frustrated, not anymore.

It’s a growl of want, of need.

“Spread your legs,” he says lowly, running a hand down Neil’s stomach to the waistband of his briefs. Neil’s thighs tremble, but they part nonetheless, enough for Andrew to fit between.

The scent of Neil’s heat pulls Andrew in, absolutely impossible to be anything but closer.

He wants to pull at Neil’s briefs until they’re finally out of the way, but his mouth wants to feel Neil’s heat, and his teeth need to sink into skin. So he does it all at once, movements in sync; he tugs Neil’s underwear down just in time to give him immediate access to Neil’s thigh, biting down on sensitive skin before soothing it with a kiss.

Neil squirms underneath Andrew in an attempt to get closer, his hands pawing through Andrew’s hair. Somehow, even with Neil’s legs shaking so hard and Andrew’s hands refusing to stray far from skin, he’s able to get Neil fully and finally naked. Without the constraint around his knees, Neil spreads himself wider, drawing his knees towards his chest.

It feels too easy, like this shouldn’t be happening, not between Andrew and Neil. It can’t be that simple, it can’t simply be this. He must really mean _no_ when he so loudly says _yes_.

Andrew lets out a long, slow breath as he stares between Neil’s legs, and he wants many things in that moment - touch, taste, take - but it isn’t about what he wants to do.

“You want me?” Andrew asks, sounding rough around the edges. “Tell me how you want me.”

Neil whines and shakes his head, his chest rising and falling in the same dangerous pattern as before.

“You know what it means, do you not? Tell me.”

“An-Andrew . . .” Neil turns his head to the side, hiding his face against the blanket. His shame and arousal spike simultaneously.

Andrew places a hand on Neil’s naked hip, rubbing his thumb in cruel, slow circles. “Tell me.”

Seconds pass as Neil’s face remains hidden, his eyes closed. Seconds pass until he turns his head to look at Andrew, one of his hands sliding down over his belly. “I know what it means,” he repeats and agrees, and with his free hand, drags one of Andrew’s to touch his stomach, too. “I . . . I want you in me.”

The decision in those blue eyes is too clear, too insistent, too aware. Andrew has to look away, down at Neil’s belly where both of their hands are resting, but finds the same answer there.

But he had asked, and his body surges to respond.

“Okay,” Andrew says, thinks, and because there’s no word made by instinct that can convey this, he adds on, “Yes.”

Relief is tangible between them, Neil finally letting out his held breath. He tries to pull his legs higher again but can’t quit from shaking, can’t hold himself up long enough. A pitiful whine is halfway free of his mouth before Andrew is gripping underneath one of Neil’s thighs and pressing his knee to his chest, keeping it there for him.

His other hand lays on Neil’s belly, then slowly, yet purposefully, trails down. He doesn’t want to, but he avoids Neil’s cock, laying hard and swollen and curved towards Neil’s stomach. Instinct says that’s not where he’s to touch, not yet.

Also, there’s a chance he likes the noise Neil makes when his hand is batted away from touching himself.

“Stay,” Andrew orders, pressing just under Neil’s knee to reinforce his point.

It’s only when he notices his hands are trembling as much as Neil’s body that he realizes how far gone he is. Propriety and caution are obstacles that Andrew’s instincts want to run through. There’s furious need to be inside Neil now, not with tongue and fingers but with something else, with himself, currently throbbing between his own two legs.

He lifts his free hand and uses it to soothe over Neil’s hip, his thigh, before circling Neil’s hole with two fingers.

Neil’s reaction is a puncture to all of Andrew’s defenses; he _cries_ , like it hurts, like it doesn’t hurt, and starts to clench around nothing.

Andrew uses that small distraction to push one finger inside, and immediately understands. Something breaks free in his chest, like a key to a locked door. If he gasps from the hot and slick feeling inside of Neil, it’s hidden underneath another one of Neil’s cries.

He hasn’t done this before. He hasn’t given it much thought. To find an omega that he could trust as much as that omega could trust him sounded impossible.

And he did find one. But finders aren’t always keepers.

Neil could run away at any moment. It’s in his design, it’s how he’s been programmed, but Andrew believes him when he says he wants to stay.

He hasn’t done this before, no, but he knows what to do.

Instinct gets it right sometimes, otherwise this wouldn’t feel as vital as it does.

He knows when to grip Neil tighter, knows before even Neil does when Neil’s hips are going to jerk, knows the exact second that Neil can take two fingers instead of one, three fingers instead of two.

What he doesn’t expect is for Neil to push himself up off the mattress with his hands, giving himself enough leverage to push down onto Andrew’s fingers with strength he shouldn’t have. Neil’s sharp moan quickly gives way to a frustrated growl when Andrew stills his hand, but that doesn’t stop Neil from trying, doesn’t stop him from clawing for more.

“Andrew, let me -”

They’ve long since left words at the door, so all Andrew is capable of saying is, “Neil.”

“ _Andrew_ -”

He takes his hands away, feeling an immediate chill once his skin is no longer on Neil’s skin. Instinct is telling him to flip Neil over now, but there’s that part in his mind saying _wait, slow down._

As if those words were said aloud, Neil stops thrusting, stops shaking, and stays still.

Andrew growls in approval, leaning down to nudge his nose at Neil’s temple to show his contentment. He then rubs his thumbs along the junction of Neil’s hip and thigh, before lifting Neil’s legs to his chest again.

Instinct or estimation, he doesn’t know, has him shifting and repositioning himself until he can take Neil into his mouth while also holding his legs up, keeping Neil bent in half. Judging from his moans, his whimpers, the way the first touch of Andrew’s lips on his cock has Neil’s voice splitting in half, Neil will be more mindless than usual if he doesn’t come soon, and will be too desperate to truly understand what he does and doesn’t want.

Andrew’s neck aches from the angle, but from here he can suck Neil off while pushing his fingers into him, and that aches in a whole other way. It’s difficult to breathe around Neil with how erratic he moves, even in his controlled position, made that much harder by how _full_ Andrew’s mouth is; Neil’s cock won’t stop leaking, his precome dripping from the corners of Andrew’s lips.

Andrew simply lets it, until his chin is wet, until his throat is sore, until his lungs beg him to breathe.

From here he can taste Neil and feel Neil and take care of Neil, and it’s rain to a wildfire inside his chest.

Neil is loud enough to be a problem. Andrew hopes Renee has the good sense to keep everyone downstairs, because if anyone comes to bother them now, Andrew will rip their heart out through their throat.

He doesn’t have to move much now, Neil all too eager to thrust upwards into Andrew’s mouth, his hands needy in Andrew’s hair. All he does is curl his fingers, three buried deep in Neil’s ass, when he senses it before it even happens - then Neil’s cock is pulsing in his throat, his hole clinging tight around Andrew’s fingers, while a botched attempt at Andrew’s name spills from his mouth.

Neil comes, everything about him warm and alive. There isn’t any trace of his orgasm when Andrew finally pulls off, all of it swallowed and faded and licked clean, nothing but twitches to the muscles in Neil’s thighs and a desperate heave of his chest.

Andrew reaches up to pet him, raking his fingers through sweat-drenched hair. Neil closes his eyes and whispers, “Andrew . .”

Is it instinct, or is it unknown want? It’s another question Andrew cannot answer, but when Neil says his name like that, when Neil reacts to his touch like that, Andrew has the urge to kiss him and never stop.

So he does; first Neil’s lips, then his jaw, then the mark on his neck. Down and down and down until Neil’s cock is hardening again under Andrew’s lips, until his hole gives way to the pressure of Andrew’s tongue.

So much for slow.

It’s want. It’s nothing but want. It’s Neil and he wants him.

The taste is something that Andrew will crave, from here until forever. Neil’s wet entrance accepts Andrew so easily, opening up from every broad and fast lick. He can’t stop. He wants more before he’s even started, wants more when he’s finished, wants more while he has it, Neil’s come so warm, sweet, satisfying.

Finally he pulls away with a gasp, his hands hard around Neil’s thighs where they’re holding them up. He stares down between Neil’s legs, at the wet mark on the bed, at Neil’s gaping hole, and maybe he’s not as self-destructive as he thought, because he can’t wait a minute longer.

“Up,” Andrew says, having to choke on his words in order to speak. “Get up.”

Despite how breathless he is, how dazed he seems, Neil sits up with only a slight wince, looking lost but not at all confused.

Andrew’s hands don’t know how to keep to themselves anymore. They thread through Neil’s hair, yanking it and twisting it and pulling Neil’s face to his, needing to cover Neil’s body with his touch. His, his, his, Neil is _his_ and he nearly feels feral about it.

“Turn around, on your knees.”

He has to help guide Neil into position, onto his hands and knees, but once there Neil knows just what to do; he lowers his chest to the bed, tilts his pelvis, and spreads his legs enough to brace himself.

With his ass presented, swollen, slick and pink to Andrew, Andrew’s mind runs into several directions - mount and knot, bite and cover, reassure and praise. He touches Neil’s back, then takes his touch away. He slides a knee between Neil’s legs, then slides it out. All the answers are held in his head, but he doesn’t know where they’re meant to go or how he’s meant to do them.

Then Neil whimpers out what sounds to be words, and they don’t make sense, but they do to Andrew.

When Andrew touches Neil again, he doesn’t pull away; one hand splays out against the small of Neil’s back, while Andrew’s other hand is busy unzipping and pulling down his jeans. It’s a sharp relief to have his cock free, a relief that Neil seems to share if his whimper is anything to go by.

Neil is pliant under Andrew’s hand, spread into perfect position. Andrew rubs his thumb against Neil’s skin, an oddly human point of contact, then lines himself up. Neil lets out a cry and starts to clutch hard at the bed sheet underneath him, gasping out Andrew’s name, sighing out his _yes_.

It’s easy to push himself inside of Neil - it’s pulling out that’s hard.

Andrew simply doesn’t want to. Nothing in his body wants to pull free from Neil, not when Neil is a tight heat around his cock, clenching down to keep Andrew inside.

But instinct says to do it, and to do it fast, so Andrew pulls out.

Instinct says to push in even faster, if a bit harder, so Andrew pushes in.

Neil’s hips rock back slightly, as if it’s the only movement he’s capable of, meeting all of Andrew’s thrusts. Something carnal tears its way through Andrew’s chest, not wanting Neil to move at all, so he drapes his weight across Neil’s back to push him further into the mattress, rendering him immobile.

From here he can reach the back of Neil’s neck.

He bites down, hard enough that Neil falls more pliant than he had been before. A low noise rumbles in Andrew’s throat; approving, soothing.

Neil melts under it, a purr-like sound of his own sounding from his chest.

Andrew makes that noise again a few thrusts later, after one particularly hard one. His body _needs_ to be closer to Neil’s heat, needs to be all the way inside of him, and Neil takes it, needs it, wants it just as much.

Andrew would slow if he had to, would stop at the first sign of needing to stop, but those words aren’t said and those signs never show, so Andrew never slows.

The noise their bodies make when colliding, meeting so perfectly in the middle, is the same rhythm as their heartbeats. Andrew growls, and nips against the tender skin of Neil’s neck. He wants to control as much as he wants to soothe, his fingers pressing in deep around Neil’s hips, his thumbs rubbing circles against Neil’s skin - a form of praise, a sign of comfort.

Despite that, they both still at the first signs of Andrew’s knot, swelling up at the base of his cock. It’s enough to make Neil grow tense, to make Andrew pause then pull out. Words are rushing underneath Neil’s skin, all saying variations of _yes_ and _now_ , and Andrew’s body wants to listen.

But Andrew’s mind is not his body, so he asks, “Yes?” He strokes a hand along Neil’s side, making it evident that he doesn’t have to say what his body wants, either. “Or - or no?”

“An-drew -” Neil stammers, words lost somewhere against his arms and the bed. Their voices sound nearly unnatural now, as if they never had them before. Neil has to take in a gasping breath before saying, “Y-yes.”

Andrew’s response is to wrap his arms tight around Neil’s chest and rub his face against Neil’s shoulder blades, pressing a small kiss to the top of his spine. He’s shaking more than Neil is now, all this want inside of him attempting to take over the rest of him. His body is a trembling wreck as he tries to find Neil’s hole again, needing several shaky thrusts before he finally catches on Neil’s rim.

Sinking into him again is a balm to wounds, everything that had hurt now healed up. Neil cries, Andrew growls, both of their bodies shifting, clenching and pushing to get closer, until -

Until Andrew has to push in harder than usual, hard enough that he knows it’s hurting Neil.

Neil whimpers and strikes his hand out to clutch at the nearest pillow, gripping it tight, but his body stays still and slack for Andrew.

The knot is a thing of nature and instinct; neither Andrew or Neil can control its size and purpose. All Andrew can do is rub reassuring circles into Neil’s skin, press his shuddery lips to Neil’s back, and all Neil can do is let him in.

If it were anyone else underneath him, Andrew wonders if it would be like this.

Besides his tiny gasps for air and a whine of Andrew’s name, Neil falls quiet while Andrew grows louder. His breath is snarling out of him, heated against Neil’s skin, determined to push himself in _now_ , he needs to be in _now_ , why can’t they just be together _now_ -

Neil is quiet, but the sudden touch of his hand over Andrew’s arm is loud.

He settles his fingers along Andrew’s forearm, the one braced around Neil’s stomach. Somehow that small touch is all it takes, as if that small touch was needed to break some sort of barrier than Andrew couldn’t see or feel, because with one more push he’s in.

As Neil’s body settles around him, Andrew stops wondering, because no.

No, it wouldn’t be like this.

That moment of calm doesn’t last, because once the knot begins to expand, Neil breaks with it - his cry is sharp, like a bite to skin, as Andrew expands inside of him. But despite the pain and the stretch and the overpowering calm of finally being together, Neil doesn’t stop moving, rocking himself backwards to get more of Andrew inside of him.

Andrew can’t move much himself, only able to grind his hips forward to push his knot against Neil’s swollen prostate. Instinct demands more though, demands now, demands closeness and no distance, and though there’s nowhere else for them to go, they try. Andrew thrusts his entire weight into Neil, rutting against Neil’s ass until it nearly hurts the two of them to move anymore.

He grows bigger and wider inside of Neil, so full and hard that he nearly hopes they never can part.

Neil comes again immediately, raised up on his hands now as his body moves like a wave; he pushes back onto Andrew, then pulls away, over and over as he comes, but he’s stuck. To be separate would hurt them both.

Words don’t work here, they mean nothing. Instead of saying anything, Andrew leans over to suck underneath Neil’s ear, while moving one hand to tweak at Neil’s nipples, swollen and warm between his fingers.

He should’ve expected it, should’ve smelled it or sensed it, but he didn’t, and so when Neil comes for a third time, it’s a surprise that pulls the breath out of Andrew. He can feel every vibration, can smell the heat that’s as powerful as a current, trying to drown them both.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t realize it until after Neil does, when Neil suddenly goes still, sinking his belly lower to the bed.

Andrew snaps, as if something inside of him had been cut. His release takes everything out of him, rushing through him and into Neil, with a noise that’s halfway between a cry and a curse, or animal and human, leaving his lips.

It doesn’t stop, like it had been _building_ , like he really had been waiting for this from the second he met Neil.

Neil whimpers in concern when Andrew lets out another whine, tilting his head to try and look over his shoulder. Andrew growls and tugs harshly at Neil’s hips, ordering him to turn back around and stay put.

Neil’s next whimper is a sound of submission, his body going lax.

The knot is doing its job of keeping it all inside. Andrew pulls back enough to see that Neil’s hole is slick around the edges, but nothing leaks out. Approval rumbles deep in his chest, soothing over every frayed and burned edge, allowing him the peace of mind to finally lay down and rest.

He lays back over Neil, placing his cheek to his skin. Their heartbeats are slow now that the pace of their bodies isn’t so frantic. This is the easy part now. Being together isn’t difficult when they never want to be apart.

When Andrew wants Neil to stay, and Neil doesn’t want to run anymore.

Andrew places his left hand over Neil’s on the pillow, where Neil spreads his fingers to allow Andrew’s to slip through; another locking of bodies.

“Th-there’s so - m-much -” Neil says, voice wavering.

He agrees, but words feel wrong right now, amongst this heat and closeness, so Andrew hisses for Neil to be quiet.

Soon enough Andrew’s body begins to burn from exertion, from staying in one position too long. Neil is the one on his knees, however, taking the brunt of Andrew’s weight and the stretch of his knot, so to soothe him, and even to soothe himself, he rubs his hand over Neil’s belly.

It’s extended slightly, the curve of his soft skin and muscle so warm; Neil is full of his come, so much so that it must hurt.

He sighs out his breath across Neil’s back, knowing that Neil can take it.

He can’t use words to praise Neil, but he can use his mouth. Slowly, not able to move much or far, Andrew covers Neil’s shoulders, neck and back in kisses, anything to ease the tension in Neil’s body, to make him purr again.

Neil gasps when Andrew’s mouth finds the mark, a relieved sort of sound that is quickly followed by a soft vibration in his chest. He nuzzles the pillow in front of him, letting out a content sigh.

Andrew’s never felt perfect before. Not until now.

Slowly, the knot begins to shrink, and as it does, Neil begins to clench harder around it, as if afraid to let Andrew go. Andrew would stop him if that same fear weren’t burning wide and bright in his own chest.

As quick as fingers snapping, Andrew becomes tense all over again. He growls and snarls as he feels his come leak free, as Neil becomes empty around him, then whines and winces once his knot is small enough to pull out.

His eyes are stuck on the sight of Neil’s reddened hole, weakly clenching to keep everything in as a steady stream of white trickles down the inside of Neil’s thigh, pooling down onto the bed. Andrew growls as he chases it with a fingertip, attempting to push it back inside, but it’s a fruitless effort, there’s just too much.

Instinct, or even desire, or something unnameable but so present and fierce tears Andrew into pieces. He needs to be inside of Neil again, locked with him, so they’re one instead of two, so Neil won’t run, so that Neil will stay.

He flips Neil onto his back and pins his hands by his head, hoping to - trying to - wanting to -

And he doesn’t know, all of his mind going blank.

There’s direction inside of him, not telling him where to go but that he _should_ go, that he needs to. He can hear so many things, can see so many things, to the point that he doesn’t know what he’s hearing or what he’s seeing.

Instinct has cut out, leaving Andrew with nothing but silence.

His road all run out, he doesn’t know what to do.

But Neil looks at him like he does, laid out like that on his back with his chest still rapidly rising and falling, and pulls gently at Andrew’s shoulders until they’re chest to chest.

Andrew follows with ease, as if stepping into footsteps already mapped out for him. Neil’s hands around him feel strong, capable, knowing, and even if Andrew isn’t sure what’s happening, this isn’t being blindfolded, this isn’t being lost.

Neil tucks his face against Andrew’s neck, then purposefully licks a path up to the back of his ear. Andrew nearly jerks away from the touch, confused as to what Neil is doing, but Neil’s hands on his shoulders keep him in place, so he obeys, going still in Neil’s hold.

Neil purrs, licking that same path over and over, cleaning Andrew’s skin of sweat and heat.

Andrew can’t stop from feeling so tense, as instinct can’t control the past, but he trusts in whatever’s happening, and lets him be cared for.

Neil’s purr grows louder as he nuzzles Andrew’s jaw, as he licks over Andrew’s throat and collarbones, his cheeks and his temples, until all of Andrew feels buzzing, raw, clean.

He’s never felt a touch so gentle.

He wasn’t aware you could be touched this gently, and maybe that’s why he couldn’t see this, why he didn’t know what to do. The road returns, Neil on it with him this time, filling in every empty space until it all makes sense, all without words.

Andrew sighs, feeling for the first time a genuine ease, and loses himself to instinct, Neil, and his touch.

-

He’s sore yet sated when he wakes up, but not sore or sated enough.

It’s almost enough to mask the fact that he’s alone, which is a fact he realizes even before opening his eyes.

He’s in the wellness ward; he can tell by the stark white walls and the nauseating chemical smell of everything. His boxers are still on, but everything else has been removed in favour of a hospital gown. One glance down at his own body and Neil can see every mark painted into his skin, put there by lips, tongue and teeth.

His own scent is strong, a mix of sweat at his temples and the residual scent of his heat, still fading.

Out of all these things he can sense, he cannot tell where Andrew is, and that’s what sets his heart off racing.

“Andrew?” he shouts into the empty room, looking from corner to corner for any sign of any life. “Andrew!”

Andrew’s scent has vanished from Neil almost completely, washed out by medicine and that awful sterile smell. It’s clear that Andrew hasn’t been in this room for hours, maybe even a day, that the only other person who’s come inside has been Abby, but where is he, where is he, where is he -

“ _Andrew?_ ”

A knock on the door pulls all of Neil’s senses into a point of panic, his eyes wide and sharp on the door as it slowly opens. He gets off the bed onto his unsteady feet, swaying a little as he shouts Andrew’s name once more.

Abby walks in, closing the door behind her before raising her hands in what looks like surrender. “Neil, hello,” she says, too calmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Andrew -”

“How about we sit down for a second? You’ve been asleep for a while.”

“Where is - where is -” Neil coughs, his throat dry from disuse. “- Andrew -?”

Abby takes a step forward, then immediately takes a step back. Neil doesn’t realize why until he can finally hear himself over his heartbeat - he’s growling, the sound nearly feral.

“Andrew,” Neil snarls out, baring his teeth.

Abby raises her hands again, moving to the side instead of forward. “Andrew brought you here shortly after your heat passed to be sure you received proper treatment. It’s his wish that you stay here for the time being,” she says, offering a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your vitals are fine, but I do need to check for any beginning signs of pregn-”

“Just tell me where -” He takes in a deep breath to clear his head, to think, to sense, and then he smells him, just barely, hardly there. _Andrew_.

Neil runs, causing Abby to yelp and jump out of his way. The door opens and slams behind him, his feet slap against the cold tile of the floor, his heavy breathing echoes off the walls. His legs are tired from not being on them in days, his mind clouded from the passing of his heat.

He just runs faster.

He slides into the lobby and knocks his entire side into a couch, the pain not even registering underneath all this panic. “Andrew -” he says from between gritted teeth, and keeps on running.

Andrew is outside, his scent being carried in by the main entrance. Once Neil breaks through the front doors he can see him, can smell him, can hear his pulse; he sits hunched over on the top step of the stairs, overlooking the entrance gate.

The fresh air of outside is shocking inside of Neil’s lungs, sharp all the way down and then out. He gasps loud and hard as he runs those last few steps, across the pavement in his bare feet, one more, two more, and then -

“Andrew,” Neil pants, coming to a direct stop just before colliding into him. “Andrew -”

Andrew is already on his feet, standing in front of Neil with that harsh look on his face, only put there when danger or fear is present.

As soon as he’s still, his entire body gives out, and Neil collapses into a crouch. His lungs ache to breathe evenly, while his body doesn’t want to, only wanting to use whatever energy it has left to latch onto Andrew and hold him.

Andrew crouches too, discarding his cigarette and holding onto Neil’s shoulders in a firm grip; not even that is enough to stop him from shaking. Neil paws at Andrew’s chest, his fingers slipping against the material of Andrew’s shirt before he can finally dig his nails in, feeling the hard and broad muscle underneath.

He finally sighs, finally inhales, finally breathes.

“What are you doing?” Andrew asks, the heat in his voice nearly enough to make Neil feel warm. “You should be -”

“Why are you -” Neil gasps, fingers curling into Andrew’s chest, sick with worry, sick with want. “You left and I - Andrew, I - I thought he got you.”

One of Andrew’s hands wraps around the back of Neil’s neck, pulling him closer and tilting his forehead to Andrew’s chest. He keeps Neil like that until Neil’s breathing evens out, his pulse soon the same as Andrew’s pulse.

“I promised that he wouldn’t,” Andrew says lowly, against Neil’s ear. “Not me, not you.”

Neil’s voice is raspy and quiet, his throat feeling torn from suppressing the need to cry. “Thank you.”

Something in Andrew’s stance goes rigid, his muscles tightening underneath Neil’s fingers. He breathes in raggedly while digging his hand into Neil’s hair, stroking through his sweat-drenched curls.

“Don’t say that. There is nothing to thank me for.”

Despite the hold on him, the urge to stay complicit and still for Andrew, Neil looks up and shakes his head. “But there is,” he explains, his voice beginning to soften around the edges. “I - you want me to stay. I didn’t want to run, I just - I just didn’t know I could stay until you said you wanted me to.”

Andrew is the one to shake his head then, pulling Neil by the hair until there’s space between them.

Neil isn’t deterred; he keeps looking, even when Andrew looks away, and asks, “Why are you the one running now?”

Andrew brings his thumb around to rub at Neil’s mark, pressing into the fresh bruise hard enough to make Neil hiss - but he doesn’t.

“Because you don’t have to stay just because I say it,” Andrew says, the words sounding like they hurt to come out. “I won’t force you to want me if you don’t.”

Neil starts to shake his head frantically, feeling that same feral fear he felt upon waking. “But I already know that.”

“You don’t,” Andrew says, forcefully. “There is a difference between what you want and what your heat wants. I shouldn’t have tried to control it.”

Neil lets out a breath, to calm himself, to calm Andrew. “There is a difference, but . . . you didn’t,” he says. “You asked and I answered.” Neil reluctantly takes his eyes off of Andrew to stare at the gate, locked on the outside but free to exit through on the inside. “I could run right now, but I don’t want to, Andrew. I don’t want to.”

For the first time Neil doesn’t feel it because he can’t even remember it - the urge to run, the need to flee, to desperation to hide. He trusts in the mark on his neck and the completion inside of him, and more than that, he trusts in Andrew’s words, Andrew’s hands.

Finally, Andrew looks at Neil, his thumb still over the mark, his pulse still matching Neil’s. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but the only heat in his voice comes from want.

“Okay,” Neil says, then nuzzles underneath Andrew’s jaw, a spot that radiates calm for the both of them. There he says, “Just you, Andrew.”

_Just you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are super appreciated after months of working on this beast of a story. I'm toying with the thought of a sequel maybe, bc there's a lot to still work with, hmmm. Thank you for reading ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concerns are always welcome and appreciated. Holla at me over on [tumblr](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com) if you want to chat! ♥


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